


Eds

by JennyIGuess



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Hypochondria, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyIGuess/pseuds/JennyIGuess
Summary: From the day Richie met him, he knew he was different. With a mature disdain that was beyond his 11 years of age, and more fire than anyone gave him credit for.Richie knew they were gonna be best friends.ORThe Eddie and Richie story, in chronological order all the way from little kids to little adults, told in the style of different events that take place. Some things are add-ons to existing scenes, some is totally made up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. So. These are just some small fics that take place over the course of the two movies OR just some stuff I make up myself. I think the fandom has… boomed since the reveal from It Chapter 2 – which is gonna make originality here a bit tricky but this is me.. trying. To do that. I may delve into the realms of fix-it fic at some point cause come ON. Even though I knew exactly what was gonna happen since reading the book in 8th grade, I’m still upset.

Personally, Eddie doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t see what’s wrong with just having one friend. Everybody acts like you need to get out there and rack up friends like a baseball card collection, as if popularity is somehow going to make his life easier to deal with. But to him, that’s a load of bullshit.

He barely has enough time for the one friend he has, Bill. With his mother being such a protective freak, wanting to spend every second of her day coiling her arms around him like bubblewrap, he doesn’t get to play with Bill as much as he wants to. And they always have to do it at Bill’s house, cause if his Mom hears even the slightest bang she’ll have his ass in the emergency room quicker than Bill can stutter “s-sorry M-mrs K.”

The amount of time he’s away at Bill’s house causes his Mom enough anxiety, which leads to the guilt trips, which leads to Eddie feeling like a terrible son. As usual. He doesn’t have any space in his mom-schedule for others.

So he’d been, let’s say, unenthusiastic when Bill told him they were gonna play with two boys he met in his wood work class (Eddie and Bill had just gone into sixth grade, having less lessons spent together, which Eddie found incredibly annoying). Eddie knows Stan. He’s the Jewish kid from his English class that keeps pretty quiet, like Eddie does. Maybe they can just sit in comfortable silence without Eddie having to do any talking. Eddie isn’t so worried about Stan. It’s the other one that’s making him feel nervously sick, as he reaches Bill’s street for their arrangement.

Richie.

Eddie has never had a class with Richie Tozier, which is fantastic in his opinion, because he’s never had to speak to him. But that doesn’t mean Richie has gone by unnoticed in Eddie’s eyes. Just the sight of him in the hallway at school puts Eddie on high alert, makes his skin prickle with annoyance. He barges through the corridor like a wild thing, unaware of who he bangs in to, be it teacher or student. Not only is he clumsy, but he’s obnoxiously loud, too. Eddie can hear him shouting and laughing from the opposite end of the school yard, his voice raising high above all the other children’s. Eddie once saw him get dragged out of an assembly by his collar after he called Mr Henderson out on his new wig, asking if he was allowed to bring “pet chinchillas” into school. And everyone had laughed. Because the louder you are, the funnier you are in the eyes of 11 year olds, and Richie is the loudest of them all.

He brought this up to Bill when he suggested the meeting, airing his… concerns about the kid. But Bill promised Eddie would like him, that he was actually pretty funny, and an okay guy. It wasn’t like Eddie could’ve put up much of a fight. Bill’s the natural leader in their friendship.

Something which he curses as he knocks nervously on Bill’s front door.

Bill’s mom answers, smiling down at the little boy.

“Eddie, honey, come in. Bill and the other’s are playing in his room.”

“Thanks Mrs Denborough.” Eddie says, politely. One perk of being a small kid is that adults automatically think you’re adorable. They like it when kids are little. They want them to stay little forever. Like his mom does.

Mrs Denborough smiles and gives Eddie’s hair a quite pet, affectionately, before walking of back into the kitchen.

Eddie ascends the stairs, trying to think of every possible situation he could be faced with in Bill’s room. No one might talk, or everyone might talk at once, or maybe Stan and Richie won’t like Eddie. Then Bill would leave him for them. No… he doesn’t want to think about that. That won’t happen.

His can hear chatter through the door and very very gently… he knocks.

He hears Bill murmur something along the lines of “that’ll be Eddie,” before he comes and opens the door to his bedroom.

“H-hey Eddie. How’s it g-going, man?”

He forces a smile and nods, stepping inside the room. Sat down on Bill’s carpet are the two boys. Stan gives a very small smile and waves politely.

“Hi. I’m Stan.”

Eddie lifts his hand back and says “Eddie. We’re in English together, fifth period.”

And as he turns his head to the other boy, Eddie readies himself for a wave of annoyance. He makes eye contact, for the first time in his life, with Richie.

And immediately, before Eddie can open his mouth to speak, Richie jumps up and rushes towards him excitedly, like a spaniel puppy with a treat dangled in front of it.

“Eddie! I’ve heard great things about you, man, great things. Richard Tozier, at your service,” he does a ridiculous bow, his floppy soft hair falling in front of his face, before whipping back up and giving a nudge. “You can call me Richie. Just ‘cause I like you, Eds. I’ve seen you around the water cooler, right? Are we in a class together?”

Eddie’s stuck to the spot, very unused to being rushed by so much human communication. Richie stares at Eddie, his eyes not moving away from Eddie’s from behind his thick glasses as if they’re best friends in a stare-off. Stan pipes up wearily from the floor.

“Let the guy speak, Rich. What did we say about personal space?”

Bill sees his younger friend’s awkwardness and decides to say something as well. “E-eddie can be kind of shy, Ri-”

“It’s Eddie.”

Bill stops mid sentence as everyone in the room watches the small boy fold his arms and stare dead into Richie’s eyes, an unamused expression on his face. Eddie continues. “Not Eds. Don’t call me that.”

Richie is frozen for a moment.

And then he breaks out in the hugest grin and doubles over laughing.

“Oh my god,” Richie giggles, “you’re so feisty! Don’t be fooled Stan, he might look cute but I think Eddie’s secretly terrifying.”

Eddie glares at Richie. “Am I feisty, or are you just a trashmouth?” He fires back.

Richie’s eyes are gleaming. “Both.” He squats down a few inches so he’s at eye level with Eddie, putting his hands on his knees. “And I still think you’re cute. So cute! Like a chihuahua.”

Eddie’s glare for Richie intensifies. “Huh. I didn’t think you’d be more annoying in person than you are running around the halls at school, but it looks like I’m wrong.” Eddie spits out quickly.

“You been looking out for me? See, we’re destined to be friends.” Richie puts on a fake old-American accent. “Eddie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Yeah, you keep thinking that.” Eddie says.

Bill is tensed up. He’s seen Eddie get heated before, but never when he’s just met a total stranger. But when Richie tilts his head to the side and smiles at Eddie, he sees a small smile play across Eddie’s lips.

It’s a miracle.

They’re getting along.

Later on, they go downstairs for dinner where Bill’s mom has made them spaghetti and meatballs. They sit around the table, Eddie nibbling on a micro portion (he doesn’t eat much) looking at Richie with horror as the boy gestures with his fork, almost flinging pasta across the table.

“Jeez, Eddie, slow down. You’re not gonna leave any spaghetti for the rest of us.” He says, mocking Eddie’s mouse like bites.

“Good. If you starve to death then you’ll stop bothering me.” Eddie throws back, taking a deliberately big bite.

“Reow. What’s wrong with it? Do you not like spaghetti? … Eddie?” Richie suddenly grins. “But it suits you so well, Eddie Spaghetti!”

Eddie groans as Stan and Bill watch the back and forth with amusement. “That’s worse than Eds.”

Richie takes a bite and speaks with his mouthful, pointing his fork at Eddie matter-of-factly. “Cute name for a cute little kid.”

Eddie doesn’t reply and Richie keeps going, tormenting him. But it wouldn’t be totally right to call it tormenting. Even though he finds him really annoying, and even though he’s messy, and even though he’s loud, Eddie thinks Richie is… kind of okay.

Maybe he has some room in his life for a few more friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's familiar. 
> 
> I think I'm gonna keep going with these fics until E/R get into adulthood, not sure. What do you think?

He’s never felt such fear.

Even two minutes before, when Betty Ribson’s legless corpse has started screaming at him about her shoe, he hadn’t felt like this. Or when he saw himself as a creepy doll and IT had jumped out at him.

He’d think about it later, and realise it made sense. He’d been friends with Eddie for two years now and the closeness of their relationship had sort of run up on him without warning. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d want to hang out with, or anyone he’d rather annoy. There was a sinking disappointment he’d feel if a group of them were meeting up, and Eddie wasn’t there. He’d been best friends with Stanley, sure. And Big Bill was his friend. But Eddie was different. All his young brain would be able to come up with hours later when he lay freaking out in his bed was that he just hadn’t experienced having a BEST friend before, that Stan was sort of a filler before he found someone who was his, you know, BFF. And so it would make sense that the scariest thing that would ever happen to him would be his best friend being in danger.

But he doesn’t think about any of that right now. He just knows as he races into the room and sees the clown clutching Eddie’s face like a ragdoll, that he needs to help him. Even if it means dying. 

The clown is staring at them. Richie doesn’t care. It isn’t looking at Eddie, losing interest as it makes bone-chilling eye contact with Bill.

“Eddie.” Richie manages to whisper, desperate to do SOMETHING. 

“This isn’t real enough for you, Billy? I’m not real enough for you?” The clown whines.

It’s fingers skim over Eddie’s mouth, and the kid looks like he’s going to gag. He hates dirt. 

“It was real enough for Georgie!” It laughs, suddenly screaming and rushing at them, teeth bared ready-

“Awwwhhhhw.”

It whines out as Beverly, teeth gritted with adrenaline, stabs the fence piece through the creatures skull. 

“Get Eddie!” Richie squeaks, rushing towards his friend. Beverly gets to Eddie first and Richie carelessly shoves her out of the way to kneel down beside him. She starts tugging on his shirt, but he ignores her. 

Eddie’s face, now clear of clown fingers, is bone white, wide eyes too shocked to shed any tears. Richie inhales sharply as he sees Eddie’s arm, bent unnaturally in the wrong direction. Eddie clutches it defensively, pain radiating across his face as he starts screaming. The clown turns to look at them, it’s eyes skewed from the fence pole, looking straight at Eddie. Richie needs to get him to move. 

“Eddie come on!” He shouts, trying to get his arms around the small boy and hoist him up, to no avail. Eddie’s eyes are trained purely on the clown, shock rendering him useless. 

Richie can feel tears burning in his eyes as the clown moves towards them, the threat of the situation starting to eat into his mind. The fear in Eddie’s face is killing him. He can’t let him look.

“Eddie look at me! Look at me, come on we’ve got to go!” Richie shouts as he holds the boys face in both hands, turning it to look at him. He meets Eddie’s large almond shaped eyes, and looks desperately at a face he’s gotten to know so well. His best friend.   
Eddie just keeps on screaming, straining his head away from Richie.   
When the clown begins to back away, Richie tugs Eddie harder, knowing their only chance is now. But as Bill runs after it, he still can’t get Eddie to move. 

“Bill! Bill no, come back!” Eddie screams, his tiny lungs working as hard as they can to be heard above the noise of 6 terrified children. 

Richie realises (a realisation he will look back at later and shudder at) that he doesn’t care if Bill chases after Pennywise. Not right now. Not when his priorities are elsewhere. 

“Eddie come on, look at me man, you’re hurt I need to get you out of here! Please!” He begs. 

Eddie’s arm looks twisted, wrong. Richie can’t think straight and, as Bill returns, he has a moment of insanity.

He remembers when he broke his ankle as a kid. His Mom took him to the hospital but it was bent the wrong way – before it set they had to straighten it. 

“BILL!” Eddie yells as their leader runs towards them, having failed to chase Pennywise down.  
They all crowd around Eddie, the worried looks of adults plaguing their young faces.

Richie runs his hands through his hair manically before shouting out:  
“Okay, okay I-I’m gonna snap your arm into place!!”

Eddie eyes widen ridiculously, horrified.

“Do not fucking touch me!”

“One-”

“Do not touch it!”

“Two-”

“Richie!!”

“Three!”

Eddie’s scream breaks his heart. Maybe more than it breaks Eddie’s arm. If it wasn’t fucked up before, it was now. Instantly, the boy passes out from the pain, slumping down against the wall.

“Fuck, no, Eddie!” Richie grabs onto his shoulders, guilt and fear sinking into his stomach.

“Richie what the fuck! What did you do!” Bev yells through terrified tears in her eyes.

“He’s out cold!” Mike shouts.

Richie’s defences come up. “It was gonna piece the flesh, you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Richie doesn’t know if it would’ve pierced the flesh, but he definitely knows he was an idiot. “Help me get him out!!”

Richie lifts Eddie up from his armpit on his right side, Bill taking his left with Stan at the feet. Really, only two of them are needed to lift the tiny boy off the ground, but it’s the support that counts. Bev puts her hand on Ben;s shoulder as Mike helps him out of the house, the slashes on his stomach bleeding down onto his shorts.

The losers rush out of Neibolt street, panting. When they get Eddie out of the house, they lay him down on the tarmac of the road. He starts to come around, eyes blinking rapidly and suddenly crying, agonised whimpers coming out of his mouth as his adrenaline retreats and the pain hits him full force. 

“Eds,” Richie put his hand under his head, supporting his weight gently, “you’re okay, man, it’s fine. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of this. No ones gonna hurt you.”

Eddie doesn’t respond- he’s so cloudy that he’s not even sure who’s talking to him. 

“I-I can ride him b-back.” Bill says, causing Richie to whip his head around.

“I’m taking him back.” Richie says.

Everyone goes silent. Questioning Bill was… not usual from any of the losers.

Bill takes a gentle step towards Richie.

“A-are you s-sure?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking?” Richie growls. 

Bill stares at him in shock for a minute before nodding.

Eddie gains enough consciousness to ride on the back of Richie’s bike, crying desperately into his shirt. 

Eddie doesn’t see the silent tears that also drip down Richie’s cheeks. Until today, he had never come close to loss. But now he knew what it could be like. 

Eddie can’t get hurt. Eddie can’t die. He won’t let him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually really like this, a bit more work during the timeline.   
What leads up to Richie carving Eddie's name on the kissing bridge.

A lot lead up to what Richie did that summer afternoon.

The first was almost losing Eddie. It’s an experience a 14 year old boy should never go through: trying to snap his best friend’s arm back into place, breaking his friend’s arm FURTHER, then attempting to ride him back through town on the back of his bike. During the ride Eddie cried a wet patch against Richie’s back, then tried to look strong when they presented him to his hellish demon mother. He couldn’t fight for himself, too hurt already to undergo any more emotional damage. And Richie, though it killed him, said nothing as he watched Mrs Kasprak pull her son harshly into the car.  
Maybe Eddie was better off with her than with Richie. 

The second was his fight with Bill which was brought on by almost losing Eddie. 

“Eddie was almost killed!!” Richie yelled at Bill, his words suddenly rushing like vomit to his mouth after an unusual silent period. 

That same mouth got punched 1 minute 37 seconds later. 

As he rode away from the scene, his teeth bloody and skin still dirty from their trip to Neilbolt street, Richie thought hatefully about Bill. Eddie had been Bill’s best friend since they were in kindergarden. Eddie was dedicated to Bill in a way that made Richie’s heart… heart? No… he didn’t mean his heart. It made his STOMACH hurt to see. Eddie went into a dirty crack den and got his arm snapped by a killer clown for Bill, and not only did Bill abandon his side to chase the clown to the well, but he didn’t even seem sorry for it. And because of that Richie would never be able to see Eddie again. 

Mrs Kaspbrak had always held a special distaste for Richie. That’s why he’d kept his mouth shut when they saw her, knowing anything he said would just make the situation worse. She thought he was too affectionate with Eddie – her fear of diseases meant that other kids touching Eddie set off alarms in her head, especially dirty, strange, unruly kids like Richie. Some people just couldn’t be charmed. 

And Richie couldn’t help touching people. He was an affectionate guy. 

Some of the losers liked to tease him about how the receiver of those affections was usually Eddie, but he ignored them (or at least tried to.) Of course it was Eds. They were best friends.

The middle of the shit sandwich that was his week was going to the arcade the next day to play Streetfighter.   
The arcade was the one place Eddie wasn’t fond of. He hated being stuck inside, being surprisingly outdoorsy for a boy afraid of centipedes. And Richie didn’t want to be reminded of the fact his friend was on lockdown, being injected and prodded by the numerous house-doctors Mrs K had on speed dial.   
So Richie went down to spend a little time (and money) by himself.  
Or at least that was the plan. 

The boy didn’t catch his attention right away, working his way around the arcade on each machine, taking his time, until he stood a few meters away from Richie. 

Richie felt eyes on him, and a presence uncomfortably close to his personal boundaries (YES, he had personal boundaries.) He tried to ignore whoever-the-fuck-had-the-nerve, but his flow was already messed up, and he got KO’d an embarrassing 20 seconds later. 

“SHIT! Ah, man, what the fuck! This things rigged, I swear...” Richie kicked the machine hard, the days frustrations finally breaking through his resolve. He really wished he hadn’t. It felt like he’d just broken a toe.  
He was about to cry out, when he remembered the creeper watching him from the sidelines. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and turned around with his eyebrows raised.  
“Can I help you??” He asked, aggressively. 

The kid is about his height, about his age. He’s blonde. That’s all Richie really takes in. He’s too pissed off to notice details.   
He looks at Richie, freaked out by the intense reaction.

“I, uh… you’re kinda hogging the machine, man.” 

Richie turned on his heel away from the boy, and inserts another coin, starting the game up.  
“Yeah, well tough shit, buddy, I’ve had a bad day.”   
Richie tried to get into the swing of things, letting the game take over. But his fingers became stiff as he still felt the unwelcome presence, cramping up as he slamed his hands into the buttons desperately.   
He was fatally wounded, again, and the GAME OVER letters glared up on the screen, mockingly.

Richie’s was pissed off. Seriously.

He glared at the boy, and started to walk off muttering “can’t even play a fucking game around here...”

“Hey- wait.”

Richie turned around to see the boy, a nervous expression on his face, holding a quarter up.

“We could play doubles? I didn’t mean to throw you off.”

Richie was taken off guard. He didn’t really hang out with any kids except for the losers, and even half of them had been pretty recent additions to his friend list. But as he looked at the boy, he felt a nervous sort of flutter. He looked sweet. And soft. The kind of boy he liked to be friends with.

But Richie shouldn’t have pushed it. He always had to fucking push it.   
He was too needy, wanted to be too friendly. Cling onto this nice distraction. And he got yelled out of the arcade for it. 

Faggot.

It’s such a disgusting word. He can’t even bring himself to say it.   
Because he’s NOT. He’s so far from… from that, it’s ridiculous. He may be a lot of weird things but that isn’t one of them.

His day, that was already feeling like the worst of his life, began to plummet downhill like a deer caught in an avalanche when the clown showed up. 

As if the fucker hadn’t made his life hard enough today, it decided to rub salt in the wound and taunt and tease at this new insecurity that was forming in Richie. Prying it open. 

I KNOW YOUR SECRET.  
YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET.

It was after almost being decapitated by the largest eyesore in Maine that Richie had had enough. He ran all the way home, cried manically for three hours, passed out, and woke up in the morning knowing (against his better judgement) exactly where his body was aching to go.

And that’s where he finds himself now, after going a mere 18 hours without seeing Eddie, outside the boys window.

He’s anxious, swallowing deeply before going up onto his tiptoes to peek in through the glass. He’s lucky Eddie’s mom is so worried about him breaking his back that she refuses to move them to a house with stairs. He thinks if he had to clamber up a drainpipe right now he’d black out from the exhaustion. 

He squints through the pristine glass-

-and straight away, Richie’s eyes land on him. 

For a horrible moment, he thinks Eddie might be dead.  
He’s laying on his back, skin a sickly grey-white, his eyes closed. One delicate arm is laying limp at his side while the other, broken one is draped across his torso. Richie remembers when he saw his uncle’s corpse at an open-casket funeral, and almost starts screaming.

But then, sure as the sun setting, he notices Eddie’s thin chest moving up and down, shallowly. There are tear marks streaked down his cheeks and if Richie squints he cant see his dark eyelashes are wet. 

He steadies himself and then, very gently, taps on the window. 

Eddie’s head snaps up immediately, and looks towards the window, completely expecting a clown to be grinning at him through the other side. But then he sees the shine of Richie’s thick glasses, his mess of black hair, and his eternally devoted face. And a new wave of negative emotion washes over Eddie.

One of tragedy. The knowledge that his best friend is breaking the strict Kaspkrak residence rules by coming to see him makes his heart light up with joy. But he won’t be able to stay. He can’t get to Eddie. Everything is over. 

Richie taps again, eagerly, offering Eddie an over-zealous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Eddie sits up stiffly, wincing at the pain in his arm, and gently pads over to the window. He stares at Richie through the glass for a moment, his enormous mahogany eyes rippling with emotion, then awkwardly attempts to raise the window up. 

When they’re no longer separated by the clear wall, Richie cocks his head to the side, shoving his screaming sorrow down into the pit of his stomach and does what he does best (or worst, depending on who you ask): lighten the mood. 

“Hey Eds. What’s up, man? I don’t wanna freak you out but I think something’s happened to your arm.”

Eddie doesn’t bite, the same tragic look on his fragile face, staring at Richie with an intensity neither of them are used to.   
The silence drags on for a few moments, and Richie starts to squirm, laughing nervously.  
“What, did the clown bite your tongue off, too?” 

Eddie ignores his tasteless joke and sighs.   
“You can’t be here.”

“This is America, kid, I can be where ever I want.”

This isn’t right. Eddie seems different. Like he knows a devastating secret he can’t bring himself to tell Richie. The bad feelings bubble up from his chest, and Richie can’t fight the anger anymore.

“She can’t just keep you locked up like a fucking dog, Eddie. I’m pretty sure that’s child abuse.” 

“You know there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Can I come in? Please I just really wanna… I want to hang out. I’ve had a fucking weird day.”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes starting to look glassy again.  
“You can’t do this anymore. Come here whenever you’re having a hard time.”

Richie takes a small step back, inspecting Eddie.  
“I’m not coming because of that. I want to see you.” He leans forward. “You’re my best friend, Eds. Why can’t I be there for you?”

Eddie looks away, tears threatening to spill down his pale face.   
“My mom, she’ll-”

Richie doesn’t let him finish, a new-found rage that had been developing all day suddenly clouding his brain.   
“Your mom is a fucking bitch. Why does everyone have a problem with me seeing you?”

“Everyone?” Eddie replies softly, confused. Richie doesn’t even register his reply, his fury building and building.

“Like, like I’m some kind of freak for wanting to hang out with my best friend? How the fuck is that weird? The others, always talking about how I don’t leave you alone. Your mom having an aneurysm every time I fucking touch you. Like she thinks I’m a fucking... like there’s something wrong with me.” Richie’s raising his voice now, and Eddie desperately tries to shush him.

“Please, Rich, she’s gonna hear you-”

“I’m NOT like that, I’m just trying to support you, and it’s like all of a sudden I’m a bad person. Everybody is close to their best friends.”

Tears have started to slip from Eddie’s eyes, his confusion growing.  
“I don’t understand what you’re saying-”

Richie surges forward, grabbing Eddie’s good arm through the window.  
“Come out, get the fuck out of that house and just do what you wanna do, Eddie. We can find the other losers, or it can just be me and you, whatever you want-”

Just as Richie notices Eddie’s eyes widen like saucers, looking behind his head, he feels a rough, clawed grip on his shoulder. 

He’s sure its It, that the clown’s been following him since the park, waiting for it’s moment to strike. But when he gets turned around, he sees something much worse.

Mrs Kaspbrak. 

She’s bright red, steam almost rising off of her skin as she glares at Richie with eyes that could burn his skin off. In this moment he wonders how it is Eddie can be related to her. His dad must’ve been perfect, his gene’s knocking out all of Eddie’s mother’s wonky ass DNA in favour of his own superior genetics. 

Her manicured nails grip into Richie’s shoulders as she spits at him.  
“I should’ve known you’d be the one to try this.” She grips his wrist and twists his hand into view, scoffing at the soft amount of dirt that has worked it’s way into his palm lines.  
She raises her voice then, almost shouting right into his face.  
“You wanted to go near Eddie, like this? Don’t you know he’s sick?? … Of course you do. You and your ratty little friends are the ones who hurt him.”

Richie is frozen, faced with the one thing he’s possibly more afraid of than Pennywise.

Eddie starts shouting through the window.  
“He just wanted to make me feel better, mom! He was cheering me up!”

She doesn’t even look at her son, her eyes hatefully trained on Richie.  
“You’ve always been a dirty little boy, Richie Tozier,” she hisses quietly, “Filthy body, filthy mind. Trying to touch my Eddie. Trying to do things-” 

“He’s my friend, you bitch!” Richie suddenly screams, instantly regretting it. 

She inhales sharply and tightens her grip on his wrist.  
Eddie can see the whites of her eyes, like a crazed animal, and desperately tries to reach out to her.

“Mommy, he didn’t mean it he just-”  
She turns her gaze to Eddie and in one swift movement unlatches his fingers from the window frame and pushes him back, causing him to topple over onto the floor, landing on his bad arm. She doesn’t notice as he screams and starts crying from the pain.

“Eddie!” Richie screams, as Sonia starts dragging him over the lawn and away from the window. She throws him harshly to the sidewalk, making him stumble and almost fall onto his face.

He turns around, ready to fight, and his blood runs cold.

There’s the same 300 pound body of a morbidly obese psychopath standing in front of him, in an ugly floral house dress… but her face has warped. The stretched grin of the clown, with it’s long rat-like front teeth, is splayed across her fat face.

“You’re a dirty boy Richie, and I don’t want dirty boys near my son. Touching my son. Trying to turn him into-

Richie starts to shake his head, knowing what it’s going to say.  
“- a disgusting little faggot like you.”

Richie runs. For the 100th time that week. He runs as far away as he can until he collapses somewhere in Derry he doesn’t care to notice. 

He can’t hide from it anymore. He’s a dirty freak. And he’s in love with Eddie. 

Richie steadies himself. He can’t bring it in himself to cry. It’s like his emotions have been scooped out by a melon baller and put back inside of him wrong. Because when he sees where he is, instead of crying, he starts laughing.

He’s knelt down on the kissing bridge. 

He laughs, cackling for a good five minutes before he eventually starts to calm down and the smile fades from his face. He looks around, every carving of names and hearts mocking his situation cruelly. The world has a cruel sense of humour. Richie’s always understood that. You’ve gotta laugh to deal with it.

He crawls over to the side of the bridge, and right in front of him is a blank space. The perfect set up for a joke. And as Richie starts carving, a stony expression on his face, he reveals the punchline:

R + E

To the saddest joke in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This comes after the losers defeat Pennywise the first time. I think everyone has been thinking about this scene so I had to say something about it.

“Rich-your-ten-minutes-are-up!”

He was zoned out of it, day dreaming about what it’d be like to have an army of werewolves, before Eddie’s avalanche of speech is thrown at him. Maybe it’s the building anxiety that’s layered itself onto the Kaspbrak kid every day he continues living, but Eddie can barely take a breath in between words nowadays. It either comes off as panicked, excited, or accusatory. Right now, it’s the later. 

Richie jumps at the tone of his voice, not hearing the words properly. It sounds like he’s been busted for something. He fires back as quickly as possible, panic in his voice.

“What are you talking about??” 

Eddie’s irritated frown increases and his now-broken voice raises in volume. 

“The hammock, ten minutes was the rule!”

Oh, okay. Just the hammock. Out of all the thing’s he could be yelled at for, he can deal with that. It’s weird – Richie had a minnie breakdown a few months ago when he’d tried to visit Eddie in his mom-prison and was chased off the property like some thieving Victorian kid. But to be honest, other than that day at the bridge, he’d been too preoccupied with a demon clown to think much about his realisation that he’s… in love with Eddie. Sure, he’d been hyper-aware of Eds, as per. And every time that fucking John Wayne Gacey wannabe got near him he’d wanted to fling himself over the smaller boy’s body. Protect him, like he couldn’t do in Neibolt street. But there just wasn’t any room in his young psyche for emotional rumination.

Don’t get him wrong, he is okey dokey with IT being dead. He can walk down the street now without town landmarks trying to murder him. But as the dust in his mind settled, and he realised he was, amazingly, going to live past the age of 14, he started to think about his future. His future with the losers. And with Eddie. 

He’d made up his mind almost instantly. Eddie couldn’t know. It was too confusing and strong. Too much to put on a kid who already had to deal with so much. He could live with the secret. Like Ben did. He’d be fine. But he still worried somehow Eddie would find out, and hate him. 

But not this time – this was just about the stupid fucking hammock.

So he prepares himself for his favourite past time: fucking with Eddie. 

Richie leans back in the hammock and looks around, casually, for the sign he knows isn’t there.   
“Huh… I don’t see any sign.”  
Eddie takes the bait instantly. 

“Are you really being this way right now?!” He spits.

“Yeah, really.” Richie affirms back. 

“No, no-no-no-no-why would there-be a sign if it-was a verbal-agreement!!”  
“I don’t remember you-”  
“-you’re going back on the fucking rule!”

Mid-sentence, Eddie launches himself at Richie, wedging himself into the tiny gap of space in the hammock, as Richie pretends to fight him off. It’s a half-hearted battle. Most of Richie’s life is spent trying to get Eddie’s attention, and the smaller boy knows that he isn’t going to get kicked out.

While the scuffle goes on, the other losers just watch in amusement. There is no doubt the Richie and Eddie are close – they hadn’t known each other first out of the group, they don’t share any of the same classes, and they live at the opposite ends of town from each other. But somehow, without it ever being spoken about or addressed, they gravitate towards each other. Like instinct, when Bill became friends with Stan and Richie, they would walk next to each other in the barrens, sit next to each other in the Aladdin theatre, share each others ice-cream, and bicker like crazy. Some people just clicked. 

The two boys eventually settle into their new tight position in the hammock. The others in the group start talking about something that Richie isn’t really listening to. Spiders, maybe. What Richie is TRYING to concentrate on is his werewolf comic. Unfortunately, just as his mind wanders and he becomes aware of the heat from Eddie’s body being squished against him, said boy starts to kick him. Richie frowns, trying to ignore how each nudge of Eddie’s foot to his face makes the hammock rock, causing their bodies to squish closer together.

Eddie’s foot stills and Richie says a silent thank you to God or whoever for-

Then the foot knocks his glasses off, rendering him blind. Richie stares indignantly at the page of his comic as the foot nudges his cheek. He slams him comic down on his lap, pushed his glasses back on, and is about to start another argument when he sees Eddie’s grinning face.

And he melts.

Eddie keeps smiling as if he hasn’t just been an annoying little shit.

“What you reading?”

“Porn. This photo of your mother is exquisite-”

He gets another kick, this time in the rib, and squeals.

“Abuse! Guys, Eddie’s beating me! I’m getting emotionally scarred over here.”

“You’re already emotionally scarred.” Stan deadpans, not looking up from his bird book. 

The banter continues like that, each of the losers throwing insults at Richie until Ben speaks up.

“I gotta go home, my Mom’ll have dinner ready soon.” 

“Could skip it, it wouldn’t kill you, Haystack.” Richie pipes up.

“Beep beep, Richie.” Ben says, on auto pilot. He isn’t really interested in what Richie’s saying. He’s watching Beverly, who’s watching Bill. “I’ll see you guys later.” Ben says and they all wish him goodbye – but the only person he looks at is Beverly.

Poor bastard. Richie would feel sorry for him if he wasn’t in the same boat. At least Eddie wasn’t swooning over someone else. If he was, Richie would just about die. 

One by one, as the autumnal weather gets colder, each of the losers make their excuses and leave the clubhouse. 

By the time Mike pushes off and shuts the trapdoor behind him, they’ve had to turn on the gas lamp. Only Eddie and Richie remain, still in the same position as before. 

Richie’s given Eddie his comic now, and is amusing himself flipping between stations on his radio. He lands on a winner - “Heaven is a place on Earth.” After the crooney balads that had previously been playing, this one makes Eddie jump where he’s laying. Richie starts singing along with the chorus, not out of tune but VERY loud.

“OH, BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH, OHHHHH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH-”

“Jesus, Rich...” Eddie clutches his heart from the sudden noise.

Richie leans forward and grabs Eddie’s hands, yanking them in time to the music.

“THEY SAY IN HEAVEEEEN, LOVE COMES FIRST! YOU MAKE HEAVEN-”

“OW, Rich!” Eddie laughs.

“A PLACE ON EARTH!”

He yanks Eddie, too hard, on his right arm. Eddie’s face suddenly contorts in pain and he gives a sharp yelp. Richie drops his hand like it’s hot.

“Shit, fuck, Eds, your arm, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine, it’s healed it’s just a bit-”

“Did I hurt it?”

“No, it’s just a bit weak still.”

“Fuck..”

Richie slumps back in his seat, and turns the music down. 

“I’m a clutz.” Richie sighs dramatically. 

“I’m fine, Mom.” 

“Calling me Mom, Eds? Bit weird, but if you like it-”

“Don’t call me Eds, asshole, how’d you like it if I started calling you Rick?” 

“Mom, Rick, whatever gets you hot, kid.” 

Eddie pouts and leans back in the hammock, dropping the comic gently onto the floor. 

Richie catches himself staring and coughs, flicking through the stations again.

“Talking of your mom-”

“Richie...” Eddie warns.

“Hey, will you let me finish? Huh? Thank you. I was gonna say it’s late. Isn’t she gonna have a heard of cows if you don’t get back soon?”

Eddie nods. “Probably, but since the whole escaping and going missing for 48 hours she’s less…” he tries to find the word, “… expectant. I’m trying this whole rebellion thing.”

“Hey if it means you get to hang out with yours truly in this underground torture dungeon, I’d say that’s a win.”

“Yeah, well it would be but she’s confiscated my bike, so, no-not-a win.” Eddie spouts out, annoyed. 

Richie sits up slightly. “What? That’s such bullshit. If you’re rebelling can’t you just… take it?”

“She got Mr Hammond to lock it in his garage. It’s impenetrable. I had to walk all the way here.”

“Dude, I thought you rode double with Bill! You’re the other side of town.”

“Tell me about it, I had to go to the pharmacist, get my-pills, go home-empty the contents to my Mom, mow-Mrs-Emerson’s-lawn, change-out-of-my-clothes-then-walk-all-the-way-here.” Eddie inhales deeply, his words practically galloping out of his mouth.”

He continues, slower now. “I’m so tired. And my legs hurt.”

“That’s shit, Eds. Don’t worry, I’ll ride you home.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Ah, ah, ah – I’m a gentleman. ‘Tis nothing.”

“… thanks.”

“Your legs hurt bad, then?”

“Yeah,” Eddie leans forward and touches his calf, “Here, like down into my ankles.”

Eddie leans back down and closes his eyes, a weary frown eating it’s way into his expression. He’s a small boy (although puberty has started really taking a hold of him lately) but he’s always had the stressed out expression of someone three times his age. Richie can see that worry now, carving deep lines into his clear skin. Worry his mother had worked into him. Richie hated her. Almost as much as he loved her son. 

“I… when I used to do track-” Richie starts. 

“YOU did track?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Dude, the only exercise you get is your wrists-”

“Edward!” Richie feigns mock disgust.

“When you play Streetfighter, asshole. Your mind just goes straight to the dirt, doesn’t it?”

“I’m a dirty person, Eds, now can I continue? I did track for, like, half a semester. Needless to say, my talents lie elsewhere. Anyway my legs hurt a lot. When my Mom wasn’t too busy throwing plates at my dad, she’d kind of like, I don’t know… just, stay there. Are you cold?”

Eddie, confused by the tangent, nods as he suddenly notices how chilly it’s gotten.

Richie heaves himself up and makes his way across the clubhouse, grabbing a blanket and wondering what the hell he’s about to do. He settles back into the hammock and throws the blanket over Eddie. 

“So what was all that about track?” Eddie asks, nuzzling into the blanket appreciatively.

“Hang onto your panties, I’m getting there.” Richie jokes, but his heart has started to race. He genuinely wants to help, he tells himself. This isn’t him being… weird. 

He rubs his palms together for a few seconds, making sure they’re warmed up, then lifts the blanket up over Eddie’s legs, inspecting what he has to work with. Cargo shorts – that’ll do.

Gently, before he can lose his nerve, he places his hands on Eddies ankle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie’s head snap up. He doesn’t dare look up at him, knowing those chocolate brown orbs would disintegrate him. He starts talking to distract himself.

“So, your muscles are tight because they’re all torn up and shit,” he says as he starts to rub circles around the bones of Eddie’s ankle. “Then new muscle forms underneath.”

“How do you know that?” Eddie asks curiously.

“Mom was a nurse. Back before, you know.” Richie mimes drinking from a bottle before going back to work, moving up to where Eddie’s ankle meets his calf.

“Ow.” 

Richie lessens his pressure. “Sorry. Anyway, your new muscles are tight so rubbing them helps loosen and voila, pain is gone. Or I think that’s it.”

“Huh..” Eddie says, laying his head back down. “And your Mom did this for you?”

“Yeah, once.” Richie says thoughtfully. Eddie doesn’t push any further. He knows things are weird with Richie’s Mom.

Richie moves to the bottom of Eddie’s calf, and pushes his thumbs gently into the flesh. He looks up at Eddie.

“This bit probably hurts.”

“No, it’s fine.” Eddie says, his head tilting to one side as he relaxes. He likes this kind of attention. It has care in it, and not the kind that his mother gives him, stricken with worry that he’s going to break. Richie just wants to make him feel better, not keep him sick. 

Richie has to sit up in the hammock and lean onto his knees to get to the main flesh of Eddie’s calf, leaning over him. He keeps rubbing slow circles, making sure not to put to much pressure into the muscles. He’s fine until he makes the fatal mistake of looking up. 

His heart is racing, but his mind is covered in fog. 

Eddie looks angelic, tucked under the blanket, some of the worry worked out of his frown. His dark, almost black hair is side parted as usual, but it looks less regimented nowadays. It’s bouncier now that he doesn’t comb it within an inch of it’s life, with a slight wave to it that makes it look as soft as a fur coat. Richie isn’t aware that he bites his lip slightly, and leans closer.  
He looks at Eddie’s closed eyes, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.  
Richie moves his hands up to Eddie’s knee, gently brushing the hem of his cargo shorts.

Eddie’s frown returns. Richie doesn’t notice, just keeps going with his rhythmic movement, too busy looking at Eddie’s perfection. 

When Richie’s hands move an inch higher, to Eddie’s lower thigh, they both snap out of their daze at the same time. Eddie’s eyes fly open just as Richie lets go of his leg and falls back against the hammock.

“Rich-”

“Shit, Eds, sorry, I sort of slipped there-”

“No it’s fine, I, uh, it was relaxing I didn’t realise then you-”

“I slipped yeah I know, I’m sorry ha.”

Richie’s cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. His head is spinning.

I KNOW YOUR SECRET.

He can hear the clown.

YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET.

God, how could he have done that? Touched Eddie like that.

“Rich? Hey, it’s okay you didn’t hurt me or anything, it just tickled-”

He’s dirty. A dirty freak. 

“You look pale, are you okay?”

Richie jumps out of the hammock, his heart hammering through his rib cage, garbling out his sentences.  
“Shit, Eds, I gotta go! It’s late, you know what they say about Derry, not a safe place for kids to be running about at night, so I’ll see ya-”

“Um, could I ride double with you?”

Richie’s expression falls. 

Eddie notices and starts to backtrack. “I mean, I don’t have to, I’m okay to walk.”

“No, no, sorry Eds, scatterbrained today, of course I’ll take you home. As long as my bike doesn’t turn into a pumpkin before midnight.” Richie’s grin is too wide, avoiding eye contact with Eddie. As embarrassed as he is, he’d never want him to walk home alone at night. 

The ride home is awkward. Eddie doesn’t know what’s wrong with his friend, and Richie is trying not to be sick at the thought of Eddie’s hands around his waist. 

He can’t let that happen again. 

He’d ruin Eddie. And he’d die before he let’s himself do that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the worst happens and the losers start to move away from Derry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst warning guys.  
I mean all these chapters are angst-ridden, but this one takes the cake I think.

You’d have thought the most terrifying moments of the loser’s young lives would’ve passed when they defeated It. That in some way Pennywise prepared them for the world in a way that no other child could’ve been. The horrors they would face as they grew into adults couldn’t possibly compare to the terror they’d already been through. Death, grief, pain, horror – they’d seen it all.

But the cruelty of It’s grasp was much worse than they could’ve anticipated. It was Derry. It was entwined to the town like a parasitic ivy plant ties itself to an oak. And even though it hadn’t taken away their lives like Georgie, or their minds like Henry Bowers, it could take away something just as vital.

Ben left first.

His mom got a job teaching healthcare to kids in a Boston high school. None of the children thought this was odd, but somebody looking closer would’ve noticed that Ben’s mom didn’t know anyone in Boston, and hadn’t taught for over ten years. But It was strong, It’s influence could travel far. And It had just so happened to make It’s way into the office of a principal at Hartford Prep in Boston. 

It’s always sad when a friend leaves. Every one of them made promises to help with the pain – we’ll call you every week when you find out your new number, and write whenever we can. Then maybe you can come back and visit. When Ben was carted away in the back of his mom’s over-packed people carrier, staring at the group (mainly, Beverly) with glistening eyes, they were sad, but there was hope. It wasn’t like he was dead. 

But then, after a month, they started to realise something was wrong. There’d been no phone calls from Ben, no letters telling them what his new number was. Not a word.   
Beverly paced back and forth in the club house, ringing her hands together as the remaining six losers talked through the situation.  
“Maybe he.. found some new friends?” Mike asked, knowing even as he said it that the statement didn’t sit right with him.  
Beverly kept pacing, “He wouldn’t just forget about us, I don’t care how many new friends he has! He loves us!”   
Stan is looking grimly down at the floor, thinking. He speaks up, softly.  
“He loves us. But maybe he wants to forget some other things. To forget...”  
“It.” Bill finishes for him, for once being the one to end a sentence.   
“Hell,” Richie says, flicking through the stations on his radio mindlessly, “If moving away makes us forget about that fucking clown, maybe I’ll kick off soon.”  
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Richie with a terrified expression.   
“You’d forget about us too.”  
Richie looked back at Eddie.  
He could forget him. Never be plagued by his love for him ever again. Live his life freely.   
When Richie doesn’t reply Eddie gets to his feet, looking shaky.   
“He’ll call.” Eddie’s voice wavers, as he dashes out of the clubhouse.  
“Eds?” Richie calls after him, but he’s gone.  
Ben didn’t call. And as time moved on and Beverly got closer to her 15th birthday, she began to retreat into herself. She didn’t come to the club house anymore, and she started to avoid the boys at all costs. Even Bill couldn’t seem to get through to her. Since Ben left, her spark went.

Eventually, her aunt began to worry. She thought maybe being in the same town as her abusive father was having a delayed negative effect on the young girl – so, six months after Ben drove out of their lives forever, Bev did too. None of them expected her to keep in contact – she’d gone out of her way to avoid them for the past few months. But still, they hoped.

And were left disappointed.

By the time all of the losers, except for Eddie, had turned 17, Stan made his announcement. 

“My grandma’s sick.” He said simply. “My dad wants us to go down to Florida to look after her.”  
Richie could feel his eyes burning.  
“That’s a load of bullshit! They’re gonna uproot your life here because of your dying Nana?? No offence, Stan, but shit happens. You can’t just...” he trailed off, fists clenched, not knowing how to finish his sentence.   
Bill looked at Stan, stoically. Mike looked like he understood something none of the others did. And tears trailed slowly down Eddie’s cheeks. Stan lifts his gaze up from the floor and looked at each of the boys in turn.  
“I...” he whispered quietly, “I want to forget. So badly.”  
They crowded around him, almost all of them with silent tears wetting each others sweaters.   
Of course, Stan didn’t contact them.

But the worst one of all was to come.   
Eddie had gotten more erratic with the group of four lately, leaning into Richie’s shoulder, wanting comfort one second and then not venturing out of his house for days the next. Richie began to worry about him – more so than usual. He was actually on his way to see Eddie at Bills house now. The four of them were gonna hang out and he was planning on ever so slyly slipping Eddie’s weird mood into the conversation. They’d talk it through, all mature, get to the bottom of it and bada bing bada boom: Eddie would be cured.   
Richie should be a therapist. 

But when he arrived at Bill’s house and let himself through the familiar front door, he heard hysterics. Richie rushed upstairs to where the sound of crying was coming from, and saw Eddie bawling his eyes out, clinging desperately onto Bill’s hands.   
“You can’t! You-” Eddie started hyperventilating and let go of Bill’s one hand to reach for his inhaler. He sucked on it deeply, his whole body shaking.  
“What’s going on? Eddie?” Richie rushed over to the three boys and put an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. The smaller boy couldn’t stop gasping and crying, making his words almost unintelligible.  
“oo… oo an’t eave us!” He whispered through his tears.  
Richie looked around the room trying to get answers from Mike’s grim expression. Nothing. He regarded Bill, not taking his arms from Eddie.  
“What the fucks happened? You’ve really freaked him out.”  
He noticed Bill’s eyes are red.  
And he realised he’s been here before. Three times.  
“No...” Richie whispered.  
Bill nodded.   
Eddie let out a distressed noise and started half-heartedly hitting his fists against Bill’s chest.  
“You can’t abandon us! I...I..”  
“Shh.. I-it’s okay E-eddie.”   
Bill held onto his fists and pulled him into a hug. Eddie sobbed into his button up.  
Richie’s body tensed as he watched the scene, his heart breaking in so many different ways.   
“I-I won’t forget.” Bill said sternly, looking at them all. “N-not now I kn-know.”

He told them that Ben hadn’t known he’d forget the losers, and that Bev and Stan had wanted their memories erased. It’d be different for Bill.

It wasn’t.  
Three months later, with no communication from Bill and after not seeing Eddie for a week, Richie went searching for him. He wasn’t in his house (Richie had waited outside his window for two hours) and wasn’t in the clubhouse. Finally, as it began to get dark and Richie was almost losing hope, he thought of one last place he might find his friend. 

Richie rode his bike hard, pushing the pedals with all of his might up and up the steep hill of the quarry. His heart was hammering in his chest, and not just from the physical exertion. He’d looked everywhere. If Eddie wasn’t here…

But he was.

As Richie hopped off of his bike and walked up the pathway to the edge of the quarry, he started to see the shape of a skinny teenager, just turned 18, silhouetted against the sunset. He was shaking, his knees up to his chest as he crouched on the floor. As Richie got closer, he smelt the sharp tang of whiskey.  
“What you got there?” He called out, causing Eddie to spin around in fright and almost knock the bottle over. He caught it at the last second.   
“You thinking it’s fucking funny to sneak up on people?” Eddie spat out at him.  
Richie dropped his bike and held his hands up in defence. “Sorry. It’s happens more often than you think. I’m a notoriously quiet guy.”   
Eddie looked back at the almost set sun on the horizon, taking a small sip from the whiskey bottle. Richie came up behind him, and put his hand on his shoulder gently.  
“That doesn’t look like it tastes very good.” Richie said. He picked the bottle out of Eddie’s hand and looked at the label. “In fact I know it doesn’t taste good. You gotta be more picky with your liquor, Eds.”  
“Please just leave me alone.”  
Richie sat down heavily next to Eddie, his long legs stretching out in front of him, feet brushing the edge of the quarry.   
“I don’t think I should go.”   
“Why not?” Eddie snuffled, snatching the whiskey back. “Everybody else has.”  
Richie’s expression softens and he puts an arm around Eddie’s bony shoulders. He moves his head until it’s resting against Eddie’s temple.   
“I’m never going to leave you.” He whispers gently.  
He can feel the tremors in Eddie’s body as fresh tears began to fall down his cheeks.   
“You have to leave eventually – all of us do. That’s what it wants. You’re gonna forget us, forget me-”  
Richie grabbed Eddie’s shoulders and twisted him to face him.  
“I will NEVER forget you. And I’ll never leave you.”  
Eddie tried to look anywhere but Richie’s eyes.   
“You can’t promise-”  
“Are you listening to me? Eddie. I won’t leave you.”  
Eddie’s tear-logged eyes slowly move towards Richie’s. He sees the sincerity.   
“Really?” He whispers.  
“Never. In fact, we’re gonna leave together.”

Richie’s plan was full-proof.  
If the two boys left town together, then they’d break the spell. They couldn’t forget each other if they were sat next to each other on the journey.  
They didn’t want to wait long. New York was the destination. Richie wanted to do comedy, and Eddie was undecided, but liked the idea of going to somewhere cultured. He hadn’t experienced much of it in Derry.   
Richie told Eddie to meet him at the train station at the edge of town. Most often, trains wouldn’t stop in Derry. Nobody ever wanted to leave (or go there). But just in case they did, on the second Monday of every month there was a 7:05 locomotive that paid the small town a visit. And that was how they were going to escape. 

Richie is waiting now, nervously tapping his feet against the bleak grey concrete, straining his head to see through the unguarded entrance way to the station. They didn’t need tickets - they’d pay on the train. Richie has all of his $300 savings stuffed into a carry-on, along with socks, a few Hawaiian shirts, and way too many comic books. Classic. 

He’s just about to go into full panic mode, when he sees a small figure walking briskly into the station with a sturdy backpack. 7:04. Cutting it close, Kasprak.  
“She showed! Gawd what would I have done?” He rushes over the Eddie, abandoning his bag and grabbing the boy’s arms.  
“Look kid, if you don’t get on that train you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.”  
Eddie giggles nervously.  
“That movie sucks.”  
“And you’re an uncultured little swine, but what do opinions mean nowadays?” Richie grins.  
Eddie shuffles around on the spot, looking down anxiously at the ground.  
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” He says.  
“You bet your ass we’re doing this. It’s gonna be fun! Neither of us have ever seen New York. We’ll either have a great time, or get eaten alive. Either is fine with me.”  
“Ugh, is that meant to be sexual?” Eddie wrinkles his nose.  
“Everything’s sexual if you squint, Eds.”  
Just as Eddie is about to argue against that disgusting point, a loud roaring starts to weave into earshot. Both of them freeze and watch as the train, moving it seems in almost slow motion, chugs into the station. The doors slide open. No one gets off.   
Eddie looks at Richie sincerely.   
“Are you sure you want this?” Eddie asks.  
“As long as you’re coming with me, I’m sure.”   
The conductor yells out the window at them  
“Are you getting on or not?”  
Eddie smiles and gestures for Richie to go ahead. Richie gives him one last wide grin before turning and almost skipping towards the train, collecting his bag in the process. 

He hops over the gap and up the stair, going left down the aisle of carriage E. He carefully inspects the seats.  
“Do you want a window seat Eds? Or the aisle in case you-”  
He turns around and his stomach lurches.  
Eddie isn’t there.   
“Eddie?” He calls running back the way he came. Maybe Eddie went into the other carriage. He reaches the doorway just as it closes and locks.  
His jaw drops in horror and he starts to bang on the window.  
Eddie is being dragged away from the station, one arm held tightly by his mother and the other one by the Kasprak’s psychotic neighbour Mr Hammond. He’s screaming blue murder, struggling and kicking. Richie tries to yank the doors open, but they’ve locked.  
“EDDIE.” He screams, his fists hammering the glass as he watches his friends stricken expression. The train starts to chug, and inch out of the station.  
He hears Eddie shouting his name from the platform, his thin arms straining against the two despicable adults.   
Richie yells backs at him.  
“I’m gonna come back, Eddie! I’m coming back for you! The next train, I’ll be back and I’m gonna take you with me!”   
He goes to yell his best friends name…  
…  
Eden?  
Even?  
FUCK – Eddie.   
Even as Eddie breaks free and starts running alongside the train, yelling to Richie that it’s okay, that he’s his best friend, Richie can feel him slipping.  
“No!!!!” He starts crying, his voice going hoarse. “Don’t let me forget you!”   
Eddie becomes smaller as the platform stops and he gets left behind.  
“I love you!” Richie screams, but Eddie won’t have heard him.  
Eddie disappears out of view.  
Richie gives a sorrowful scream and slides down the door of the train, pushing his glasses up and crying into his palms.   
His breathing comes in huge gasps as he tries to calm himself.  
He hasn’t been this worked up since…  
Since the kid in his class broke his arm on their school trip. It’d freaked him out.   
Richie starts to calm himself.   
God, why is he getting so worked up?   
He’s always wanted to leave Derry. Why does he feel so upset?  
He gives a delirious laugh. He can’t even remember. That’s how ridiculous this whole situation is. One passing thought getting Richie Tozier bawling his eyes out on the floor like a kid.   
He picks himself up and looks for his bags, He’d dropped them in the aisle of the deserted train carriage. That was stupid.   
He picks them up and settles into a seat with a window view.   
Yeah.   
He’s always wanted to leave Derry.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25 years later, and Richie gets a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy. This is a long one.   
Now we're getting into the era of the adult losers, who I'm so excited to write about because we've been given some amazing performances in the second film.

Everything should be great.  
Richie lived in New York, a place where weirdos like him were heralded and given their own comedy shows. He had a line of stand up gigs sold out for months to come. He had (moderately) good health (even though he’d never had the strength to kick the smoking/drinking/cocaine habits.) He should be on top of the world.  
Yet all it took was a little phone call, from some backwater town that he should never have had to think of again, and he was throwing up like someone had punched him in the gut. 

For the first time in what must have been over twenty years, Richie felt pure, unadulterated fear. Fear as thick as tar, sliding down his mouth, covering his tongue and throat in it’s bitter taste. He had to sick it up. And he did – the contents of his stomach spilling over the side of the rail and probably onto some guy’s head. Didn’t he used to have a teacher who wore wigs that looked like small mammals? He hadn’t thought about school in… he didn’t know when he last thought about it. 

But even after basically drowning on his own vomit, it only took him 120 seconds before he was making bad sex jokes on stage – shaken, yeah, but basically himself. He pushed the fear to the back of his skull, didn’t let himself think about it. Until after.

He walked briskly to his dressing room, marched inside, and slammed the door shut. The lights in the room weren’t too bright, thank fuck. The stage managers knew by now bright lights didn’t go well with hungover old men, and ergo didn’t go well with Richie. He didn’t want to face the glare of a bulb when his body was sending him panic signals like he was dying. He made a B-line for the neat tray of tumblers, jack, bourbon and bottle of cola that’d been set up for him on his dressing table. Ignoring the cola, he poured the golden contents of the bourbon into the tumbler with a shaking grasp, lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. 

The taste was good. Familiar – but not in some sort of scary, “his past rushing towards him like a speeding bullet” way. This, he could deal with-

“Thirsty?”  
Richie choked on his drink, dropping the tumbler to the ground where it, remarkably, bounced on the worn carpet. He span around, his nerves on fire as he readied himself to face something horrific and indescribable like a werewolf or a mummy or a cl-

..

clown.

\- But he didn’t. As soon as he saw the familiar face in front of him, looking at him like he’d just bitten one of his fingers off, Richie felt ridiculous. Why had he thought of a clown? A shrink would say it’s something to do with his self-worth, that he sees himself as a clown yada yada; but that’s exactly why he didn’t see a shrink.

“Okay, I know the show was a massive success. So why do you look like a wall street guy about to take a head dive?” Said the man before him. His sort of, secret, part-time, not really official boyfriend, Ryan.   
Richie tried to shake off his anxiety, rubbing the back of his head.   
“I wouldn’t say massive success. If every show goes well can you call a good show a success? What’s successful for me now?” Richie mumbled out, not sure what tangent he was going on.  
Ryan frowned, and started to walk over to Richie.  
“I also know you leave the philosophy for guys who make way less money than you. Tell me what’s up.”  
Ryan had reached Richie, and placed his hands on the man’s tightly crossed arms. Richie flinches and turns away from him, making his way back to sort himself a replacement drink.   
“Nothing. One of those days.”   
“Well, we can maybe make it not one of those days. Hows about we go out, huh? We could go to the Lions Club?”  
“You know I don’t wanna hang out there any more.” Richie said before sipping his drink.   
Ryan walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around him.  
“What, cause of one little picture.”  
Richie shrugged him off and turned around.  
“Yeah, Ry, one little picture of me in a gay bar with some guy.”  
“Some guy?” Ryan crossed his arms defensively, mimicking Richie’s own.  
“Oh come on. I didn’t mean it like- to them you’re some guy.”  
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Who’s this mysterious “them,” Richie?”  
Richie’s shoulders tensed. “Don’t start.”  
“No, come on. Who in this day and age would give a shit if they found out you were gay?”   
“People.. people still care.”  
“It’s 2018, get over yourself! Nobody. Cares. Is there something going on here? Is it me?”   
Richie looked at Ryan. Really looked at him. Every time he saw him, there was a glimmer of something. Some sort of pain and grief. But this time, it was bubbling over the edge.  
Richie didn’t know why. He was a nice looking guy.   
Smaller than Richie, which he liked. Soft dark brown hair. A cute face. But… it was the eyes. Something about the grey of his eyes made alarm bells ring in Richie’s head that he was dating an imposter. They weren’t right.  
“Yes.”  
Ryan stood statue still, staring at Richie.  
“Wh-what?”  
“It’s you. This isn’t gonna work out.”  
“That’s not funny.”  
Richie downed the rest of his drink, grabbing his jacket. “Yeah. For once, I’m not trying to be.”  
Ryan went to grab a hold of Richie’s wrist, yanking him into his gaze.  
“You are not fucking leaving me, Tozier. Do you know how hard I’ve been working, trying to get you to come out? Why are you trying to ruin things? You like me. I like you. Why can’t you accept that?”  
“I don’t love you.”  
Ryan’s eyes started to glisten with anger. “You’re a joke.”  
“You’re the last one to figure it out. You can do better than me.”  
Richie gently picked Ryan’s hand off of his wrist. He doesn’t look at him as he leaves the room, still clutching his Bourbon.  
He had a long drive ahead of him. 

**

As Richie got further from New York, and the roads became more barren, his brain function started to return. He’d just broken up with Ryan. It was a long time coming, really. On paper, they were a good match – they found each other attractive, liked the same things, were at the same places in their lives, and had reasonably good sex. But there was something missing.   
He wanted someone who he loved fiercely. A best friend.   
He’d never had a best friend. Not even as a kid – his whole existence before coming to New York had been so pathetically bland that there wasn’t a single stand out memory…

But that wasn’t true, was it?

Richie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened and he swallowed hard.  
“Shut up. Shut up.” He chanted to himself. People didn’t just forget their pasts. Mike must’ve been some unmemorable kid he’d known at school, someone who’d had a mental break and was now calling up the entire class of ‘88 and rambling about promises. 

If that’s true, then why did he feel so sick?

The radio wasn’t helping. As if he didn’t feel freaked out enough it was crackling with static like some shit out of Silent Hill. He was getting close now. To “home.” His Mom had moved away a little while after Richie made his great escape, so even when they (sort of) patched things up, he’d never had to come back here.  
Coming into view was a large sign; white with chipped paint and the cheerful enough, yet somehow disturbing words “Welcome to Derry.”  
As soon as he whizzed past the sign, the radio sprang to life – it’s static suddenly cleared as it jumped startlingly into a song.

“When I feel alone, I reach for you  
And you bring me home.  
When I’m lost at sea, I hear your voice  
And it carries me.”

Richie almost swerved off of the road in shock from the sudden assault. That song – it was great. He was pretty sure he used to love that song. He gave a disturbed laugh and quietly began to sing along.  
“Baby I was afraid before, but I’m not afraid anymore.”  
He was a kid when this came out. He must’ve listened to it then. He hummed along to the chorus, his heart starting to warm slightly.  
“Oh, baby, do you know what that’s worth, oh heaven is a place on Earth. Huh. Can’t believe I remember that shit.”   
It was coming back to him, now. He’d known every song in the charts as a kid cause he carried that stupid radio everywhere. As if on queue, “Heaven” stopped and the DJ faded into the next song. “I Drove All Night” by Cyndi Lauper. This had come out in ‘89 – Richie remembered it playing over and over on his radio. He used to turn the volume up to drive them crazy-

“FUCK!” Richie shouted, suddenly stamping his foot down on the brake pedal.   
A fox had dashed out in front of him, causing him to whip the steering wheel around – missing a brick wall by a quarter of an inch.  
Richie’s knuckles were white. He breathed in great gasps, desperately trying to calm down.   
Because who the fuck were “they?” Who did he use to drive crazy?  
“Who don’t you drive crazy, Trashmouth.” He laughed but the sound came out more like a whimper. Trashmouth? That was a new one. Or maybe an old one.   
Cyndi Lauper, unconcerned by his existential crisis, continued to croon out her ballad.

“No one can move me   
The way that you do  
Nothing erases this feeling between me and you.”

There was something seriously wrong here. 

Richie slammed the radio off and drove the rest of the way in silence. He didn’t speak to the lobby clerk in the Townhouse, and stayed silent all the way until he sat there, parked outside the Jade of the Orient. He tried speaking to himself, to calm down.

“Okay Richie boy. You go in, tell the nut he’s got the wrong guy, tip the waitress, and get the fuck out of dodge. You’ve dealt with worse. At least you’re not meeting your mother.”   
He still didn’t move.   
Lost for what to do, he sighed and looked out of the window.   
A woman and a man were stood opposite each other, talking.   
He leaned forward, straining to see through the layers of dirty glass that were his glasses and the car window. The woman was tall, slim, about his age. Red hair. The guy – he had to be about Richie’s age too. But he looked better for it, obviously.   
Something pulled Richie towards them and before he knew it he was getting out of his car and walking towards them. It was only when the pair embraced that everything came flooding back.

A devastating story of unrequited love. A girl afraid of her father. A boy who was only afraid of what she thought of him. Cigarettes, secrets, blood. Beverly and Ben. His two friends. He’d… he’d had fucking friends. Not just one, but two.   
He felt the sudden urge to cry. What sort of selfish bastard forgot their best friends? Didn’t try to keep in touch with them when he left? Or – or did they leave? He was hazy on the details. All he knew was that the sick yet warm feeling was coming back in his stomach. 

He readied himself, sticking his hands in his pockets and standing next to them like he hadn’t just been about to tear up in a parking lot.   
“Wow. You two look amazing. What the fuck happened to me?”  
He expected cold looks of disdain. He was the guy who didn’t care. Who didn’t keep in touch. But Ben broke out into a smile and embraced him.   
“Hey man!”  
Richie hugged him back and shrugged. “Richie.” He said, to clear up who he was, even though he was pretty sure they knew. Who the hell else was he gonna be mistaken for with a haggered-ness that could only be attributed to cocaine abuse.  
He let go of Ben and swivelled to Bev.  
“Hi.” He smiled, and she returned it wide and genuine.  
“Hey.”  
He hugged her, not remembering the last time he felt this happy to see people.   
She let go, and had a good look at him.  
“God. You look… so like you.”   
He smiled. “And here’s me hoping I looked like Ryan Gosling.”   
Ben laughed, his green eyes crinkling. Richie remembered Ben as a kid. He’d changed a lot, but those eyes were identical.   
“I wonder if the others showed.”   
Richie frowned. “Others?”  
Bev and Ben gave each other a knowing look.   
“I.. I didn’t remember at first.” Ben said, his voice almost a whisper.  
“Come on, let’s get in there.” Bev said, pushing open the door. 

Richie’s heart hammered with every step he took towards the room they’d booked. He’d been ignoring something. Something real and terrible and sad that had been hiding in the back of his head his entire adult life. He wondered if he’d remember the others.  
His wondering was answered as soon as he reached the open door. A few seconds felt like 27 years of memories rushing back into his mind. There were three men in the room. For some reason he couldn’t look at the one to the left. Probably nothing. He shouldn’t analyse it – that’s what shrinks were for and as he’d said earlier he didn’t go to a-

Bill.  
How could he have forgotten their leader, the one who brought them all together? And Mike, the member of the group who was probably more hated in the circle of bullies than Richie. How brave he’d always been.   
His mind started to scream at him. Because he was about to look at the man on the left. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what he was about to feel.  
When he saw Eddie’s face, it was like seeing a picture of your parent when they were a kid. It was the most familiar thing in the world, something he’d stared at for hours and hours of his teenage life, and yet it was different. He was all grown up.   
He started to remember.  
Those big brown eyes were the same ones that looked up at him in Bill’s room as an angry little 11 year old, challenging him with a mature disdain that no one else their age had.  
The same arm that was broken in Neilbolt street.  
The tragic expression that looked at Richie through the glass of Eddie’s bedroom window when Richie had tried to visit him in mom-jail.  
The same dark glossy hair that framed his face perfectly as he lay in the hammock in the clubhouse.  
The man that used to be the boy who Richie had left on the train station.   
The love of his life.  
Richie couldn’t breathe. He’d forgotten him. Eddie. He’d left on the train and within seconds Eddie had slipped from his mind.   
This… this explained a lot.  
None of the men had noticed him yet. That was good – had he to do this right. And by do this right, he meant step up to the role of class clown that everybody relied on.  
He hit the large gong in the doorway and announced:  
“This meeting of the losers club has officially begun.”  
Eddie hadn’t looked at Richie yet and saw Ben.  
“Ha, look at these guys..” He trailed off. They all stared awkwardly at the now-Adonis that was Ben.   
Eddie still wasn’t looking at Richie. He obviously had a similar block going on in his head. They all circled around the room, hugging and greeting each other until finally Richie found himself standing right in front of Eddie.  
The smaller man’s entire expression dropped, pure shock reading on his face as his own memories started to come back. He looked at the tall, dark, bespectacled adult in front of him and suddenly recognised his hero, joker and closest friend.  
“Fuck, Rich? Richie?”  
“No, Beverly.” Richie smiled wide, and didn’t wait a second longer before wrapping his arms around Eddie.  
Eddie instinctively moved up onto his tiptoes so he could place his head against Richie’s shoulder. It felt like coming home. Richie fought the urge to inhale the scent of Eddie’s hair and let his eyes drift closed. They held each other for what was a second too long, before breaking apart. Eddie studied Richie’s face, making him want to squirm. Eddie looked so smart and well put together, whereas he – he was the definition of a mess.   
Eddie started to speak “God, man... you look-”  
“Terrible? Contrary to popular belief fame doesn’t make you sexy.”  
“Shut up asshole. You look exactly the same, like.. like you.” Eddie wrinkled his nose. “You smell like vomit and rum, though.”  
“Bourbon.” Richie corrected.  
“So you drink the fancy stuff now you’re a big shot, Trashmouth?” Eddie smiled and Richie prickled with electricity.   
“You been watching my shows?”  
“I saw them on… I knew your name but I couldn’t… it’s like I couldn’t look at your face. I never knew what you looked like.”  
Richie smiled, rocking on his heels. “Yeah, well, I got a face for radio.”  
Eddie punched Richie lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.”  
“You though, Eds, you’re… ha.” Richie laughed awkwardly, knowing what he was thinking but shouldn’t say.  
“Yeah, laugh it up dickwad, I’m still short.”  
“You’re tiny!”  
“Not THAT small.”  
“Like a chihuahua.”  
“I swear to God if you start calling me a chihuahua again- I’m a full grown man!”  
Richie reached out and patted him on the shoulder and settled with: “You look good, man.”   
Eddie bristled at the compliment, not knowing what to say.  
“Keep it in your pants, huh?” Eddie joked. He couldn’t have known how deeply that stabbed through Richie’s heart. His eyes widened, and he attempted to recover by grabbing the nearest drink. He started downing it.  
“Rich.” Eddie said gently.  
“Hm?” Richie hummed as he looked up, drink still in mouth.  
“I forgot you. You were… you were my best friend, man. And for all these years I couldn’t remember you.”  
Richie stared into Eddie’s eyes. They’d always been so expressive.   
“We all forgot, Eds.”  
“Don’t call-” Eddie started instinctively, but stopped himself at the last second. He cleared his throat and looked into his gin and tonic. Richie followed his eyes and for the 100th time today, felt the urge to throw up. 

There was a wedding ring on his finger.

“I, uh..” Richie could feel himself sweating, his emotions bubbling up through his body.  
“Are you-” Eddie started, but before he could finish Richie had ran off, barrelling through the front doors to the toilets.  
He lunged into a stall and threw up the alcohol he’d been consuming for the last 7 hours.   
He cried the hardest he had since that day at the train station. Full blown sobs that wrecked his body. He tried to stop, fisting the material of his pants and screwing his eyes shut, but it was like a dam had broken – there was no coming back from this heartache.   
Slowly, after five minutes, the crying began to ebb.   
With shaking hands he reached into his pocket. He needed a pick up – nothing big, just something to take the edge off. You know, the edge that was the love of his life being fucking married. 

Coming back from the toilet and into the function room, he willed the coke to take affect. He needed help. This was not the sort of situation he was in anyway prepared for. As soon as Eddie saw Richie come back into the room, he rushed over to him.  
“I just lost a bet. I said you’d split. Mike, I owe you 20.”  
Richie tried to laugh but it came out high pitched and weird.  
“Are you all right?” Bev asked him, as he suddenly realised all the other losers were looking at him.  
“Better than all right, Bevvie, I’m buzzing.” He grinned, making eye contact with everyone except Eddie.  
Mike rolled his eyes. “Famous people, huh? Always a party.”  
Richie’s eyes accidentally fall onto Eddie as the losers begin to take their seats. He sits down with care, folding his arms onto the table. He moves his eyes from Richie to the seat next to him, inviting him. Everyone else had taken their seats. Richie only had two options.   
He takes a seat that leaves a space between him and Eddie. 

If he’s going to do this, whatever this is, whatever mess him and the others got themselves into when they were kids, then he was gonna do it his way. He wasn’t going to get fucking hurt.  
Anymore than he already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you not be sad when writing these?  
Let me know if you like where this is going or if ya got some critique.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rare quiet moment between Richie and Eddie at the townhouse before the chaos begins.

Richie can’t sleep. He’d always been pretty good at sleeping. Most evenings he could pass out and not wake up again until noon which, if you were a glorified mic-stand like him and only had to work at night, worked out fine. He remembered now (remembering being a thing which was fairly new to him) that he’d have trouble sleeping when he was younger, if there was something on his mind. Most 14 year olds are wise to the fact monsters aren’t real, but still have some sort of sinking feeling at the sound of a mysterious bang in the darkness. The thought of something crawling up their stairs, past their sleeping parents and to their door. But with Richie, that wasn’t a passing thought he could bury into the back of his mind. It was a genuine threat. And the monster wasn’t just some faceless lump worming to his door - it was a detailed, terrifying design created by a faceless entity purely to elicit fear. 

He’d had reason back then not to sleep. And now that his blissful ignorance had been yanked away from him, that reason had come back. 

After reconnecting with the losers all hell had quickly broken loose. The fortune cookies, the eyeball… that clown was a sick fuck, but it was damn smart because there was an image that was gonna make Richie squirm for the rest of his life. And then, just to add to the chaos, turns out Stan had topped himself. Oh, and Bev had seen them all die in an eldritch vision. So yeah, that’s where that left him now. Lying in bed, thinking about death and clowns and god damn fucking eyeballs. 

…

And Eddie.

Every time he manages to dose off, he has the same sort of dreams. This time, he needed to piss and, in his attempt to find a bathroom, had started to walk down a long dark corridor. Which is never a good idea. He felt on edge, the darkness around him starting to swirl and make noises. He saw a partially open door with light shining out of it. He runs to it and arrives in two strides, rushing in and slamming the door behind him. The floor is wet. There’s a dripping noise. His first thought is “why is Eddie wearing clothes in the bath,” before he starts to notice the blood. Flowing from his delicate wrists, down his fingers and onto the floor in rivers. 

Richie sits bolt upright, grasping the comforter in a death grip. Sweat soaks his back as he rocks back and forth, slowly trying to dispel the terrible image from his brain. What were Bev’s words again? “We all die horribly.”  
Richie shakes his head. There’s only so much he can take. He needs a drink.   
“Fuck this.” He mutters and throws the sweaty comforter off of him, instantly regretting it when the cold air hits his skin. He quickly jumps up and searches around his room, trying to find the clothes he’d strewn across the floor before he jumped into bed earlier. He pulls on a sweater, his tatty jeans and some socks before deeming himself decent enough for a night time binge, and starts to make his way downstairs.

The Townhouse is surprisingly cosy seeing as it’s a resident in demon town. Richie tiptoes down the carpeted stairs in his socks, attempting not to make any loud noises that might cause someone in a room somewhere to shit themselves from fear. He knows how that feels. As he reaches halfway down the stairs, he sees the warm yellow light of the lounge beckoning him, and he hurries the rest of the way down, the promise of a stiff drink cheering his resolve. 

As he enters the room, he lets out a sharp yell, hands flying up in protection.  
He isn’t expecting to see someone else sitting at the bar.  
Eddie jumps around, throwing a hand to his heart as if he’s about to have a stroke.  
“Holy SHIT, dude?? What was that about? Are you trying to fucking kill me?” Eddie cries out.   
“I wasn’t expecting-”  
“Cause apparently I’ve got a high enough chance of dying as it is, so I don’t need you speeding up the process!”   
“Yeah, ditto, you sneaky bastard. You need to get a bell or something. Let people know where you are.”   
Eddie fixes him with a sharp look and sits back down on his stool, swivelling towards the bar.   
Richie sighs, his heart rate starting to slow as he walks behind the bar and starts to rummage around the bottles. Eddie stays staring into his drink, secretly glad of the delicate clinking of glass and the shuffle of Richie’s feet that fills the silent room. It had started to feel pretty creepy. Without looking around, Richie speaks up.  
“Couldn’t sleep?”  
Eddie shakes his head, before realising Richie can’t see him, and replies. “No. It’s too… quiet.”   
“I get that.” Richie agrees, finally choosing an expensive looking bottle.  
“Yeah. The one thing I didn’t think I’d miss about NYC was the noise.”  
Richie frowns and faces Eddie. “You live in New York?”  
Eddie mirrors his expression. “Yeah?”  
“You never said?”  
“I… yeah I guess it didn’t come up.”  
“So, you’re saying we’ve been living in the same city all these years and never ran into each other. Ha.” Richie starts to pour himself a generous amount of brown liquid. “Well if that ain’t a fucking joke...”  
“It’s a big city, I doubt we’d have ever ran into each other. Plus we might not have known it was, you know, us.”  
Richie points at him with the glass and puts on a mock sterness. “Don’t you dare say that, Kasprak, I‘d have recognised you instantly. Became best friends again. Got a time share together.”  
Eddie smiles and looks down at his glass.   
“How do you make stupid shit sound funny? Something about your voice.” He looks up sharply “Don’t let that go to your head.”  
Richie leans on the counter and grins at him. “Too late.”   
Eddie bends back a little, stretching out his back before looking over at the comfy seating area.   
“Do you wanna go sit over there? This stool is-”  
“Too tall for you?”  
“I hate you. Don’t follow me.” Eddie says, getting up and walking over to the couch, flopping down in it like a rag doll. Richie ignores him and sits in an armchair opposite, bringing both his glass and the bottle. 

They sit for a moment, both of them considering their drinks and trying to figure out what’s appropriate to say.   
Richie tries to stay staring at his tumbler, but a force pulls at his attention until he’s left, as he had been for so much of his young life, staring at Eddie.   
Illuminated by the soft ochre light, he takes in all of the similarities and differences that have arisen in the other man’s face over the years.   
His eyes are still huge, expressive voids that say more than his smart mouth can ever attempt to. And the mouth, that’s the same too. His hair has the same healthy shine to it – because, no matter what his mother made him believe – he was healthy. Perfect, in fact.  
The difference is what age had done to him. And Richie didn’t dislike the differences. The lines that were always going to form on his face from hours of neurotic frowning. The pixie roundness of his jaw giving way to thinner, more hollowed out shapes.   
Eddie was always going to look like this, and to Richie it was like a fruit ripening or an Arctic rabbit’s fur changing in the winter. Eddie had reached his autumn, and like the multicoloured leaves it was undeniably gorgeous. Richie just wished he’d been there for the rest of Spring. And Summer. 

God, what a fucking sap. He could throw up all over himself right now. My god. Who knew he was so full of hidden depths? Guess all it takes is realising your entire childhood was a hidden nightmare to bring out the poet in a guy. 

But enough introspection. It’s been a hot minute since either of them have spoken. And Richie doesn’t know exactly what he wants to say, but knows he needs to hear Eddie say something before he convinces himself that this is just a fucked up fever dream.   
But before he can think of anything, Eddie beats him to it. 

“I...” Eddie starts, not daring to look at Richie. “I keep wanting to say ‘I’ve never been this scared….’ but we have, haven’t we?”  
“Have what?”  
“We’ve been this scared before.”  
Richie swallows thickly. “Yeah. I’d say so.”  
“How the hell did we deal with it? I mean, I’ve been living with this fear for, like, less than half a day, and I already feel like I’m gonna lose it.”  
Eddie’s hands are shaking. He keeps clenching his fists and releasing them, like there’s a stress-ball pressed against his palm.   
“You’re not gonna lose it. I promise.”  
“How do you know?” Eddie fires at him.  
“Because I’ve just remembered I know you better than I know anyone else. Excluding Tara, the waitress at my local strip club-”  
“God, will you just-”  
“Eds,” Richie gets out of his chair and perches on the couch next to Eddie, being mindful not to touch him. He needs to keep himself in check.  
“Listen,” Richie continues, “You’ve survived worse. You fell through the floor, snapped your arm in half, and then had a killer clown almost eat your face.”  
Eddie’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he gasps sharply.  
“Oh fuck.. I.. Rich, I forgot that.”  
Richie scoots ever so slightly closer. “And you were a champ about it. You got through and came out the other side still Eddie.”  
Eddie’s eyes shoot up to meet Richie’s.  
“Yeah. After you snapped my arm.”  
“I-I fixed your arm, actually!”  
“Dude you full on broke my arm… I think I passed out.”  
Richie leans back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, so I broke your arm a little more. The damage was already done, guess I’m a shitty friend I’ll just go fuck myself-”  
He looks up and sees Eddie smiling, a laugh slowly bubbling up from his chest. Richie stares back at him, not knowing how to react.  
“I’m not used to people laughing at me Eds, which – in my line of work – is pretty depressing, so what gives?”  
“I don’t know. Something about you panicking and thinking it’s a good idea to snap my arm into place is just so you.”  
Richie folds his arms, but gives a small smile.  
“Oh, so I guess you know me so well now?”  
Eddie looks down at his glass, his grin fading to a nostalgic smile. “Well yeah. We were best friends.”  
Richie non-chalontly examines his nails in mock-breeziness. “I was a popular guy, man; had a lotta friends.”  
Eddie sighs and punches him lightly on the arm.   
“By which I mean,” Richie continues, “We’re still best friends, Eds. You can’t get rid of me now.”  
“Til we both die.”   
Richie swallows, his humour dropping. “We’re not gonna die.”  
All of a sudden, Eddie doesn’t look well, his skin losing colour and his eyes taking on a haunted gaze. Richie uncrosses his arms and puts a gentle hand on his knee.  
“Eds?”  
Eddie doesn’t look at him, his voice coming out like a whisper. “It’s like you said with Stan. He was the weakest. It got to him first. You know who the weakest after Stan is.”  
Richie grits his teeth. “Don’t.”  
The small man looks up at Richie, locking him in a gaze so serious it makes him want to cry.  
“You know It’s gonna get me first.”  
Richie shakes his head and grabs Eddie by the shoulders.   
“I am not gonna let It get to you. It’s gonna have to kill me first.”  
Eddie’s eyes are watery, and he gently squirms in Richie’s grip.  
“Don’t say that, man. I can’t think about you dying. I couldn’t-”  
“Yeah, likewise, dipshit.” Richie pulls him into a rough hug, feeling their hearts beating against each other. “You’re my best friend. I- you’re not going anywhere.” Richie smiles, his voice shaking. “I’ve got so much left to find out about your boring life. We can’t die before that.”   
Eddie’s small hand reaches up and combs through Richie’s shaggy locks. He stiffens, the affectionate touch being something Eddie had always reserved for their most private moments when none of the other losers were around. Something about the action happening between them as grown adults made it seem more serious.   
Eddie mumbles into Richie’s shoulder. “I’m gonna lie down for a sec, I think.”  
Richie doesn’t know what to say back, so settles for whispering. “Yeah?”  
Eddie nods and breaks their hug slowly, pushing a pillow up to the end of the couch and laying down. Without asking, he gently rests his feet on Richie’s lap.   
“Are you gonna go up to bed?” Eddie asks.  
“Nah, I think I’m gonna stay here for a bit.” He looks at his lap and clears his throat, adding, “Safety in numbers, and all that.”  
Eddie nods, his eyes closed. “Kay. I’m just gonna lie here for a bit then go up.”  
“Sure, man, that’s fine.”  
Richie watches as the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest gets slower. His mouth becomes slack and his shoulders lose their tension. He watches until he’s sure Eddie is asleep, then he gently lifts the man’s leg’s up off of his lap, and scoots out from underneath.

He sits on the armchair opposite, and watches Eddie until he eventually falls asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Richie sees Pennywise in the park? Something much worse...

As Richie wakes up, his heart starts to race. His eyes snap open. He struggles to take in a breath as he feels his throat constricting as if there was a big, thick snake winding its way around his neck.   
It seems like he wakes up to panic attacks now.  
He wills himself to calm down, but the terror is only increased by his lack of eyesight. All he can make out is a dim lack of light. Where are his glasses? Why did god or satan or whoever have to curse him with a condition that makes him such easy prey?  
He feels around desperately for them, his chest getting tighter and tighter, before he feels a warm hand on his arm.  
Richie shouts at the touch, his heart hammering, before he hears the only sound in the world that could calm him down in a situation like this.   
“Rich, hey man, it’s me, your glasses were on the floor.”  
Eddie’s other hand gives him his glasses and Richie shoves them on, exhaling shakily, his wide eyes blinking like an owl.   
Eddie takes a little step back, watching his friend adjust to the privilege of being able to see. “Are you okay? You were panicking pretty hard there, dude.”   
“Yeah,” Richie whispers, “That’s sort of been my go-to state for the past 24 hours.”  
Eddie gives him an understanding look and pats his arm.  
“How long have you been up?” Richie looks around and sees the curtains of the lobby are still drawn closed, soft slithers of light shining through the gaps.  
“About half an hour. I didn’t wanna wake you – you were out like a light and seemed pretty peaceful… ‘til I came down just now.”  
Richie rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You always catch me at my best moments. Are the others awake?”  
“Yeah, I just went up. Doesn’t seem like anyone got much sleep - but Mike has an idea about where we could go.”  
“Go?”  
“To jog our memory.”  
Richie sits up straighter, stretching out his ligaments. “And where’s that?”  
Eddie smiles. And like every other smile Richie’s seen since he got to Derry, it’s laced with a touch of fear.   
“The Clubhouse.”

**

So much of Richie’s childhood was spent in that strange dug-out bunker they called a clubhouse. He hated being at home, and Eddie’s mom wasn’t keen on Richie being around the Kasprak residence, (even before the arm break – he’d run into a stupidly placed stool holding an urn containing Grandma Kasprak’s ashes. Eddie had laughed so hard he peed his pants a little. Mrs K didn’t find it so funny) so it was easier to hang out somewhere else. He could wrap himself up in the warmth of a blanket as Eddie chattered away to him about some weird medical show he’d seen on eye surgery, or a piece of school gossip that didn’t affect them. It was a safe place.   
And as precious as those memories were, seeing the place now made Richie sickeningly aware of the fact they were an incomplete group. Stan never made it to Derry, where they would’ve laughed and bullied him about his dumb spider-resistant shower caps. What Eddie had confessed to Richie last night haunted him. That Eddie was the weakest after Stan. Richie doesn’t believe that’s true – other than Bill, Eds is the only one who’s fallen into the clutches of that fucking clown. And, unlike Bill, he didn’t leave in one piece. Yet he kept going. He isn’t weak.  
…. He just hopes Pennywise knows that. And doesn’t try to single Eddie out. Lead him apart from the group.  
When Mike suggests they all go their separate ways to find their artifacts, it seems (to put it nicely) counter-intuitive. He doesn’t like the idea of wandering around Derry by himself, and he likes the idea of Eddie doing it even less. But what can he say? Mike makes a convincing argument, and Bill agrees. And what Bill says goes.   
After reluctantly parting ways with the other losers, Richie wanders down the quiet sidewalks of Derry’s commercial streets. He can’t help but watch anyone who walks past with a deep suspicion, as if he’s in a strange hostile city rather than his quaint little birth town. Moms push their babies in prams, old people shuffle along with their Zimmer frames, and everybody seems just… normal. Calm and content. But Richie knows that contentment isn’t genuine. Maybe it’s something in the water – quite literally. Pennywise bathes in the town’s water, what’s to say he doesn’t pollute it with some kind of Xanax that glosses everyone over and makes them pay no mind to screaming, terrified children. Or maybe it’s something more eldritch than that. He doesn’t know.   
It’s frustrating that the places he knows he doesn’t want to go are exactly the places he has to go to if he ever wants to unravel the mystery that is his childhood. He keeps walking down main street until he halts in his tracks, looking across to the other end of the road.   
He watches as Eddie, oblivious to Richie’s presence, jogs over the street towards the pharmacist. He looks stressed. Wound-up. Richie wants to go to him… but he knows he can’t. They have to explore their secrets by themselves. Whatever they are.  
So, as Eddie disappears through the glass doors, Richie forces himself to pull away. To turn heel, and march in the opposite direction.   
He walks for a few minutes, without anywhere in mind, until he reaches a street covered in boarded up shop fronts. It seems even Derry isn’t immune to the ravages of internet shopping. As he walks down the uneven path, he starts to feel a sense of nostalgic excitement. That’s new. Wait was that- oh, fuck yeah!  
The arcade!  
Richie runs up to the doors. God, it’s so depressing to see it all boarded up like this. He loved this place as a kid. It could’ve been the shittiest day in history, his mom could’ve yelled at him, Eddie could not be talking to him, but everything could be brightened up with a game of Streetfight-  
Richie doubles over and hurls on the sidewalk. It lasts for about thirty seconds.   
Shivering, he pushes his glasses up his nose, wipes his mouth, and slowly straightens up. Fuck. He’s repressed so much.   
He steps closer to the glass doors, gingerly sticking his hand through a hole in the glass, and pulls down the door handle. Broken down machines, cobwebs, and a half torn “You’ve Got Mail” poster. It’s a sad sight, but that isn’t the reason Richie’s insides are twisting.   
The sweet, soft, nice boy who’d turned out to be the not so nice cousin of Henry Bowers. That’s what happened in Derry. You tried to hide your deep dark secrets and that just made them even more intent on crawling out of the woodwork and exposing you.   
Richie inserts a coin into a machine and receives a small silver token. He turns it over in his hand. He wonders how Eddie’s doing. Hopefully not dealing with almost dying while battling some nightmare-fueled hell-demon. He starts to feel sick again – no. He can’t think about Eds right now. But talking of nightmare fuel… where is that fucking clown? It usually took moments of emotional distress like this to come out doing a fucking creepy (and, in hindsight, hilarious) dance, jump scaring the crap out of him. But, then again, he never saw It at the arcade.   
No… it was after.   
He swallows thickly.   
Paul fucking Bunyan.

**

It floats down, legs cycling in the air as It taunts Richie in a singsong voice. The words he’d heard whispered in drains and basins when he was 14 years old. 

I KNOW YOUR SECRET.  
DIRTY.  
Dirty.   
He runs. As fast at his shriveled old lungs will allow. He runs away from the park, down the street, as far as he can until he’s in Derry’s white-picket fence residential area. He slows, wheezing, the little air that enters his throat burning like acid. That was fucking AWFUL.   
FUCK.  
THAT’S what they used to have to deal with?? How had he not gone insane?   
He’s just about to start seriously contemplating jumping in front of an oncoming car when something catches his eye. The house to his left looks familiar. I mean, everything looks familiar. But this is something important…  
It doesn’t take him long to guess. Because as he stares towards the house, he suddenly sees something in the window.   
A small boy, touching the glass.   
Richie watches, frozen.  
The boy looks like he’s been crying. He lifts up his little hand and waves at Richie. There was no mistaking it. It was Eddie. The same shiny chestnut hair, neatly ironed polo shirt and freckled skin.  
“E-Eds?” Richie whispers.  
Behind Eddie a shadow starts to emerge, pacing closer to him. Richie squints, expecting to see the screaming, enraged face of Mrs Kaspbrak pop up, even though she’s probably in her 80’s by now. But to his abhorrence, the shadow gets taller. And by the time Richie can make any sense of what’s going on, Pennywise is stood behind Eddie. The little boy doesn’t notice, tapping on the glass, trying to get Richie’s attention. It grips him from behind, covering his mouth so he can’t scream, and drags him back into the shadows of his bedroom.   
If he thought about it for a second longer, he’d realise that isn’t Eddie. That Eddie is a 40 year old man now, not 14. But he doesn’t have time for reason. He barrels towards the house, trying to wrench the door open. It’s jammed. He takes a step back and gives it a forceful kick, like they do in the movies – bad idea. He yells, feeling like his hip has been displaced. To add insult to injury, the door suddenly unlocks, swinging open gently.   
“Oh, you motherfucker.” Richie growls, charging through the door. The interior is the same, even down to the weird olive-green furniture. He looks around and chokes in horror. Pennywise is crouching over the unconscious boy on the hallway carpet, It’s mouth stretched wider than a human skull, ready to bite down into his sleeping face.   
“D-don’t you fucking dare!” Richie stammers.  
Even with It’s face split in half, Richie can feel the clown grinning at him. It’s hand that’s gripping onto Eddie’s wrist, slowly lets go and slides down the side of his skinny body, onto the length of his thigh, grasping it lightly. Richie feels sick, and it’s all that he can take. He charges at the clown, screaming at the top of his voice, as it’s hand quickly travels down the length of Eddie’s leg, gripping his slender ankle, and drags him out of sight through the doorway of the kitchen.   
“Eddie!! Don’t fucking touch him, you sick fuck!” Richie yells, before he runs through the kitchen doorway and straight into the 40-year-old Eddie Kasprak.   
Eddie yells out in surprise.   
“Oh, my GOD, Richie! Will you stop fucking scaring me??” He screams, seemingly at the end of his tether. “Why is it everywhere I go you have to pop up and give me a heart attack?!”  
Richie stares at Eddie, the living adult who isn’t being dragged into the sewers by a killer clown, and bursts into messy tears. Eddie’s eyes widen.   
“Oh shit, man, I’m- I’m sorry, you just ran out of fucking nowhere and, and it’s my house so…”  
Richie grabs ahold of Eddie’s hand, ignoring his usual hang-ups about physical contact and drags him out of the house.   
“Richie- what-“  
“It, I-It” Richie sobs, trying to speak between breaths as he pulls Eddie through the front door and out onto the lawn. He can’t form a full sentence and Eddie grabs onto him, halting him just before he reaches the sidewalk.   
Richie turns and starts to protest, “Eddie It was in there, It had you, It-“  
Eddie shushes him, holding onto Richie’s hands tightly. “I know. I saw It too.” Eddie looks down for a moment and clears his throat. “Trust me. I just… went through some weird shit in there.”  
Richie is still sniveling, but his breathing is becoming easier. “Y-you got your artefact?”  
Eddie doesn’t answer, instead looking into Richie’s eyes solemnly. “It’s gone. The two of us together, I guess we scared It off.”   
Richie tries to smile, but it isn’t happening. He wipes his eyes and gives a little groan.  
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Eds.”   
Eddie kneels down on the grass and pulls Richie with him. “Sit down with me.”  
Richie gives an uncertain look back at the house. Eddie pulls him again. “It’s gone. Trust me.”  
Richie nods and descends onto the grass, staring at the bright green blades, not making eye contact with Eddie. Eddie watches him, face full of concern.  
“You said It had me. What did you see?”  
“Just.. It was just fucking with me, I don’t know. What a surprise, huh? It’s usually such a nice guy.”  
“It was hurting me?”  
Richie swallows and mumbles, “It looked like it was gonna.”  
Eddie waits a beat.  
“Rich?”  
Richie looks up at Eddie, the last of his tears drying on his face. “Yeah?”  
“How long have you been in love with me?”  
Richie freezes as though he’s a T.V. screen being put on pause. He can hear his heart beating in his ears, his vision starting to go black around the edges. He must’ve heard wrong, there’s no way that Eddie could’ve just said what he thinks he said.  
Richie laughs. He laughs a hard, mock laughter that he usually only reserves for sucking up to powerful T.V. execs.   
“You won’t believe what I just thought I heard you say.”  
“Since we were kids?” Eddie asks plainly, his free hand playing with the blades of grass on the floor as his other still holds on tightly to Richie.   
Richie starts to shake his head. “Hey, look, nice joke but I’m the funny one – stick to your day job, man doing, like tax or whatever you do.”  
Eddie nods, not breaking eye contact with Richie, and starts slowly leaning towards him. “Since we were kids, then.” Eddie states as he continues to lean, his face getting closer to Richie’s.  
“What are you doing?” Richie whispers, his voice barely audible.  
Eddie sits up slightly on his knees and stops playing with the grass, raising his hand up to touch Richie’s cheek. Richie burst into nervous, chaotic laughter that stops as soon as it starts. He doesn’t know what to do. His brain is malfunctioning.   
Just as Eddie presses his lips up against Richie, and he feels like his head is gonna explode, Eddie stops. He leans back, looking confused before he starts to cough. It starts out slow, but builds into a wrenched choking.   
“Eddie??” Richie leans forward and grasps Eddie’s shoulders. The coughing starts to turn into wheezing and, to Richie’s cold horror, blood starts to trickle out of his mouth. Richie screams, terrified and confused as he tries to hold Eddie. His big brown eyes are looking blood shot as he gasps, his white knuckled grip pulling up the grass as blood rushes out of his mouth, drowning him. Eddie’s eyes roll back in his head and he starts to fit.  
“No- no, no no!!” Richie cries, fresh tears flowing from his shocked eyes and staining his glasses. He scrambles behind Eddie, propping him up on his chest.   
“Please,” Richie begs, “I do love you; I love you so so much, Eds, please, PLEASE.” He cries and tries desperately to stroke Eddie’s silky dark hair as he continues to convulse in Richie’s arms.   
“No!” Richie screams once more in anguish, and as if a veil had suddenly been lifted, Richie looks up and screams the most blood curdling scream he’s made in all his life. Because in his arms, where Eddie just was, is a 7ft clown. It’s head is twisted inhumanely to gleefully grin at Richie, blood swishing from It’s mouth down onto It’s chin. Richie scuttles back, crawling away from the clown at lightening speed.   
“Do you love me Richie?” The clown mocks, blinking It’s eyes. They change from a hideous amber to the familiar chocolate brown Richie had just been looking into.   
Richie stands up, his body at war with whether to wretch with disgust and claw at his mouth or to run like Usain fucking Bolt and get the hell out of there. He settles for an awkward mixture of both.  
The clown yells after him, in the tortured voice of the love of Richie’s life.  
“Don’t leave me! Richie! Don’t you love me?” It erupts into laughter that haunts Richie all the way down the street, across town, and to the town house. 

**

He walks through the front doors of the town house, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His face blank. All the moisture in his body has dried up, and even if he wanted to he couldn’t have cried.   
Bev and Ben sit on the bottom of the stairs, looking up at he storms in. He stomps over to them.  
“Move. Move.” He states, pushing past the pair.   
Bev stands, up. “What’s wrong?”  
“I’m leaving.” He says without looking back.   
“What?” Ben stands up too, staring after him incredulously. “You can’t leave, man, we split we all die!”  
“Yeah, I’ll take my chances, we’re gonna die anyway.” He says, his voice breaking on the last word.   
He hurries upstairs and starts to pack

He can’t do this.  
He can’t watch that-  
He almost bursts into dry tears again thinking about it.  
He can’t watch that again. He can’t be fucked with like this. If he watches Eddie actually die…  
No. He has to do what he’s always done and what’s always worked for him. Push everything down. Repress.   
He’s leaving.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie's day leads up to a lost horror scene in the library after Bowers' death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been away for a while, I'm really sorry - college was intense and I didn't have much of a break but now it's all over! I think there's only gonna be one more chapter after this to round everything off but I might have a spark of inspiration that'll require two - who knows. 
> 
> I’ve been ruminating on where to go with this story. Or rather, how to get where I wanna go. I guess this story is for the sort of person who’d rather read strung out torment than early love confessions – and hey, each to their own, I’m just a masochist and want to feel that sweet pain.  
But the love is real, even if Eds don’t know it yet. 
> 
> I added an extra scerrry scene cause I love chapter 2 but you know it’s lacking those scares.

He hadn’t been this dirty in 27 years.  
He’d spent his entire life actively avoiding that shit.  
Eddie was never gonna be the guy to sign up for a mud-run, go to a festival, or (god fucking forbid) go for a hike without at least three backup hand sanitizers. The world was gonna wake up one day, and WISH they’d listened to Eddie about germs. They’d beg for his sage wisdom on hygiene.  
But right now, he isn’t his usual picture of cleanliness. Leper-vomit (a compound noun no one ever asked for) had seeped into every crack in his body.  
He screamed internally as he marched down the street, covered from head to toe in thick eldritch sludge.  
“Play it cool, Eds.” He mumbled to himself. Because, as he’d remembered, the residents of Derry probably couldn’t see the gunk covering him. Like the blood on Bev’s walls, it existed in a halfway place between real and imagined. A living nightmare, if you will. And they were all blind to it. One little girl started to whimper when she saw him, carelessly letting her ice cream drop to the floor. Yeah. She could see it.  
He didn’t know how he was going to make it to the townhouse without tearing off his own skin. He was the other side of Derry and, like an idiot, had walked here.  
And then, like water in a desert, Eddie saw a miracle: a gym.  
He could’ve cried. 

He quick-stepped towards the doors and stared through the glass. This place was definitely a “Derry” gym. Geriatrics in lycra performing what looked like some aged-up version of the “Call on Me” music video; walls painted an offensively neutral light blue; Weight Watchers shakes instead of protein powders. But God fucking damnit, it would do.  
He stumbled up to the receptionist, giving him what must look like a very forced grin. The guy didn’t give a shit. Eddie guessed he wasn’t the weirdest customer to have ever graced these walls. It was fucking Derry, man.  
After rambling his way through a membership form, and turning down the equipment induction, Eddie raced away to the showers, snatching a hoodie and some joggers from a sales rack on the way.  
The shower room was… bleak. He was reminded of his high school locker room. The showers, rather than being separated into cubicles, were lining the walls of one big room with a gaping plug in the middle. Eddie weighed up whether he was more of a germaphobe of a gymnophobe and, as always, his need for cleanliness won.  
Luckily, no one else was in the men’s section. And from the look of the crowd doing hip thrusts in the front, that wasn’t gonna change.  
Eddie ripped off his clothes, his desire to be washed overpowering any lingering modesty. He’d have to leave them here – even if all that grime wasn’t real, he couldn’t look at those clothes the same way now. No matter. He had plenty similar.  
He twisted the dull chrome dial and quickly stepped out of the way as icy water chugged out of the head. The freezing droplets splashed onto his legs, making goose flesh raise over his skin. After a very slow ten seconds, the room began to steam as the shower heated. Eddie stepped into the water, placed his head into the stream, and gave a full bodied shudder as the remnants of his greatest fear finally came loose from his skin.  
“This fucking shit. FUCK.” Eddie gritted out. Being scared shitless is one thing. But being repeatedly thrown up on was just degrading. Mike hadn’t said anything about THIS in his phone call.  
Eddie’s face softened. He shouldn’t rag on Mike. He probably had his own demons chasing him around town right about now. His thoughts wandered as the haunches of his shoulder began to slowly relax in the water. The temperature was scalding now, just how Eddied liked it. He wondered what twisted crap the other’s were seeing right now. He thought about Richie. 

That had been the real surprise of this whole trip. Remembering Richie. Not completely, mind you. There were big hazy stretches of memory still out of reach. But he did remember they were best friends. Practically attached at the hip. And his mom hated him – which meant he had to be a good soul.  
Eddie slowly rubbed the clinging bits of slime from his neck.  
He’d had some nice talks with Richie these last two days. Some deep ones about dying. Some more light-hearted chats they’d had while walking to the club-house or in the Jade. He didn’t remember the last time he was so interested to learn about a person. Richie was a Rangers fan, he liked all the new scary movies that were coming out, and his music taste was basic but fun. “Like you.” Eddie has quickly retorted.  
What was Richie afraid of? Eddie frowned. He didn’t remember a detailed, gory description of horror from Richie during their childhood. He remembered… a picture? No – a poster. The missing kid poster. But they were all afraid of that. It was something… obvious.  
Oh, shit. Eddie would’ve laughed if it weren’t so tragic. Clowns. Poor guy.  
As Eddie did the last few bodily checkups for grime (inspecting his nails, behind his ears, etc.) the plug in the bottom of the wet-room caught his eye. He could almost imagine a distorted clown head squeezing out of it.  
He laughed to himself, out loud and hollow. That would suck. 

**

“Well at least I got Richie to stay.” Ben said with a husky voice and a hopeful smile, just as Richie threw his suitcase over the balcony of his room.  
Luckily, he was only on the first floor. He gracelessly clambered over the edge of the rail and fell awkwardly onto a bush. He scooted off to his car, pulling it out of the parking lot with breakneck speed. 

**

“Oh, and then the leper threw up all over me!”  
Eddie was bitching to his imaginary wife about the ins and outs of his time in Derry. Things he realistically knew he’d never tell her. He’d returned to the town house, changed out of the baggy gym crap he stole, and was now attempting to scrub his face. Again. For the fifth time in a row, while grumbling about his day. He still didn’t feel clean. The calming effects of the shower had rubbed off quickly.  
Finally satisfied with his oil-stripped skin, Eddie closed the bathroom mirror.  
And saw Henry Bowers standing behind him. 

**

“Thanks for showing up, Stan.” Richie whispered as he sat in the empty Synagogue. He’d seen this place as he made his great escape. Remembered Stan’s words. Something about being who you are. Richie wasn’t exactly inspired to be his true self, but he HAD remembered what was important.  
It had killed one of his best friends already. It was going to kill all of them.  
But there was a tiny sliver of hope, Mike said.  
And as Richie sat there, on the uncomfortable wooden bench, he saw where fear was going to get him. Reading about the discovered corpse of some 39-year-old brunette in the news and having no idea who it was.  
It was time to act.

**

“Bowers is in my room.” Eddie gurgled through a mouthful of oozing blood. Bev gave a little shriek, and gingerly tried to inspect his wound as Ben stormed into his room like a Lion defending it’s pride.  
He returned thirty seconds later, pale-faced.  
“He’s gone.” He rasped.  
“Where do you think he is?” Bev gushed. 

**

“Guess you could say that was long overdue. Get it? Cause we’re in a libar-“ Right on cue, Richie throws up in a disgusting arc over the floor. To give himself credit, he had just sunk an axe into a man’s skull.  
“Mike!” Bev calls, rushing into the library. She screams at the dead body on the floor, expecting it to be Mike, until her groggy brain slowly provides her with the answer as to who the mullet-wearing corpse could be.  
“Are you all right?”  
“No, I’m not all right, I just killed a guy!”  
“Richie,” Ben spells out, “I was talking to Mike.”  
“Yeah…” Mike says slowly. “Yeah, I’m okay. Where’s Bill?”  
Beverly’s eyes shine with frustration. “He ran off, saying something about a kid and the fair.”  
As if summoned, Mike’s phone begins vibrating with an incoming call from Bill.  
Richie’s eyes widen as he sees the bandage on Eddie’s face.  
“What happened?” He mouths.  
Eddie mimes being stabbed through the cheek, then points at Bowers. A hot prickle forms at the back of Richie’s neck. He suddenly feels less sick at the thought of that fucker’s split open head.  
“Hey, Bill, what’s going on” Mike asks urgently into the receiver.  
“A little kid, Mike, It killed a l-l-little kid.” Bill’s voice crackles over the phone, thick with rage.  
“Wait hold on, come to the library, we can figure out the plan.”  
“Gonna kill it. I’ve gotta kill it. Alone. I c-c-can’t let you get involved.” He spits out. He hangs up before Mike can argue. Mike stares down at the phone in disbelief.  
“He’s gonna try and kill it by himself.”  
Bev’s eyes widen to the size of frisbees.  
“He can’t, he doesn’t stand a chance!”  
“I know.”  
“We have to help him!”  
“Mike, did he tell you where he was going?” Ben chimes in.  
Bev stares off into the distance, thinking. “If he really wanted to kill Pennywise, there’s only one place he’d go.”  
“Neibolt.” Eddie responds with the answer they already know. He runs his hand over his right arm, remembering the last time he stepped foot in that creepy house. Richie watches him from across the room, his stomach tightening.  
“The ritual only works with all of us.” Mike says solemnly. “If we don’t get to him in time…”  
He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. They all imagine the same outcome. Their number bumping down to five.  
“Let’s go.” Bev says with finality. They all nod, some more reluctantly than others, making their way out of the library. Richie slows down to reach the back of the pack with Eddie.  
He hunches down to Eddie’s height so he can whisper at him. “So, Bower’s stabbed you? In the FACE?”  
“Yeah, man, and I was just forgetting about it before you brought it up.” Eddie bristles, then checks himself. “Sorry. I felt for sure that psycho was gonna kill me.” He frowns and runs his tongue over the inside of his mouth. “I think my tooth’s gonna fall out…”  
Richie tries to think of a funny retort, but he’s got nothing. The others have already rushed through the library door, which Richie notices. He guides Eddie with a hand on his shoulder.  
“Let’s go, dude.” He settles for.  
But just before they reach the exit, the thick oak doors slam shut in their faces. The two men jump out of their skin. Richie, the adrenaline still in his blood from felling Bowers, lurches forward and slams his hand against the door.  
“What the fuck!” He yells as Eddie stands stock-still behind him.  
“Richie?” He hears Beverly’s muffled call from behind the door.  
He attempts to yank the door open. Some invisible force keeps it shut tight. Three guesses who’s behind that, he thinks. “It’s locked! Mike! Mike?”  
“I’m here!” Mike’s voice seems even fainter than Bev’s.  
“How else can we get outta here??”  
“I can’t hear you…” He hears Mike’s voice trail off into nothingness.  
“MIKE!” Richie bellows in frustration before slamming his fist into the wall.  
His jumbled thoughts turn to Eddie, who’s been unusually quiet, when a hand lands gently on his shoulder.  
“Rich, man… look.” Eddie murmurs.  
Richie follows Eddie’s gaze. He looks up and, honestly, should’ve seen it coming. It’s the same kind of weird shit he’s been seeing in fever dreams his entire adult life. The ceiling has been completely obscured by a canopy of lipstick-red balloons. They stay in formation, gently and slowly sinking to the ground like a shrinking room from an old adventure movie.  
“We’ve gotta get out of here. Some fucked up shit is gonna go down any second.” Eddie whispers urgently, tugging Richie’s arm. Richie feels paralyzed. Sick. The sinking balloons are too similar to the bunch Pennywise had floated down on just hours earlier in the park.  
“Richie- come ON.” Eddie urges, pulling his arm with both hands now. But Richie is a dead weight.  
All of a sudden, the balloons halt their descent. The two men hold their breath. Richie squints closer at the latex orbs, and somehow – despite his shitty eye-sight - notices something. There is something swishing around in them. They’re filled with liquid.  
“Oh fuck-“ is all Richie manages to say before the balloons burst simultaneously, and an impossible amount of blood rains down on them, sweeping them into a current of scarlet. 

Richie’s blinded by red. His skin suddenly clammy with the weight of blood. He’s submerged in another wave of it, pushed down into the newly formed depths. He kicks his legs frantically, swimming towards air, but the surface rises further and further away as the great room fills with fluid. Just when he’s about to resign to the fact he isn’t going to make it, he breaks through the surface, his lungs burning as he gasps for air. He wipes his eyes - AND the layer of blood from his glasses - so he can look around.  
The room is filled up, about two meters from the ceiling, and rising. Eddie is nowhere in sight.  
“Eddie!” Richie calls, croakily, whipping his head around the space.  
Just when Richie is about to dive back under to find him, Eddie surfaces three meters behind Richie.  
“Richie!!” He yells, facing the opposite way.  
“Over here!” Richie swims towards Eddie in his fasted front-crawl, reaching him in a few seconds. Eddie’s hair is slick to his face, his skin coated in blood. He looks like Carrie. Eddie attempts to wipe his face, but ends up slicking his skin further.  
“Are you okay?” Richie holds Eddie’s shoulder, almost bobbing under the water momentarily as he loses his water-treading abilities.  
“I’m fine, are you?” Eddie responds, his eyes flicking around the room.  
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” Richie looks up and gulps. “… Worry about that.”  
The ceiling is coming ever closer as the room swells with blood.  
“No fucking way-“ Eddie chokes, his eyes widening with a newfound fear. They both search the room. Their eyes land collectively on a large glass window.  
“Quick!” Richie slaps Eddie on the arm, and starts swimming towards the window. Eddie follows him, his voice rising in panic.  
“What are we ‘sposed to do, Rich? Fall out of a second story window?!” They reach the window, breathing labored.  
“Thanks for the insight, smart ass, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!”  
Richie is about to kick the glass when Eddie grabs onto him, almost bringing both of them under the water.  
“Wait, wait! Okay, look – if you kick the glass in and we hold onto this,” Eddie taps the curtain rail above the window, “Then the blood with drain out, like a plug, but we won’t go with it!”  
“This isn’t a fucking cartoon, Eds!”  
Eddie looks like he wants to smack him. “It’s that or we drown, dude – or we break our necks.”  
Richie stares at him for a second, then nods, realizing their time is running out. The ceiling is now a sickening half meter away, the window completely submerged under the waves. He grabs the curtain rail with both hands, braces himself, and kicks the glass. His movements are dulled by the water, and it doesn’t move. Eddie joins him at the rail and counts.  
“1… 2… 3!” They kick together, putting all their weight behind it. The glass doesn’t even crack. A quarter meter away.  
“Fuck!” Richie screams.  
“Keep going, come on. 1… 2… 3!”  
Again, nothing. Their heads now touch the ceiling, with only a few inches of air left.  
Their eyes meet, and Richie’s stomach drops as he sees the crimson pool reflecting in Eddie’s big dark eyes. He tries to steady himself, but his voice wavers.  
“C-come on man. We’re gonna take a deep breath, okay? We can do this. We’re weakening it.”  
Eddie’s shaking, but he nods – or tries to. Their heads are now bent awkwardly against the ceiling like an adult in a children’s playhouse.  
“Ready?” Richie asks. He’s not sure he is.  
“Ready.” Eddie answers. They both take their final breath.  
Once again, Richie is submerged in red. His glasses fall away, making his surroundings even blurrier. Eddie must’ve guessed he wouldn’t be able to see well, because he taps Richie on the leg, before hitting him, hard. Then a second time, and Richie realizes he’s counting. On the third beat the two of them kick the window in sync. Nothing. Richie can’t let this be it. Without waiting for Eddie to count he starts kicking frantically at the window.  
It isn’t gonna work. They’re going to die.  
Richie makes a muffled, anguished groan as he realizes he’s never going to see Eddie again. He goes to grab him, to hold him in their last few moments, but as he stretches his hands out, he feels nothing. Eddie isn’t there.  
Richie turns around in the liquid, and is just able to make out a dark shape floating away from him. Who would’ve known that Eddie, with his non-smoker’s lungs, would’ve run out of air before Richie?  
Richie reaches him in a movement that’s more of a trash than a swim, and grabs what he guesses is his head. He squints at the face in his hands to see Eddie’s eyes are closed. He’s passed out.  
Before common sense makes it’s way through his oxygen-starved brain, Richie pushes the back of Eddie’s head towards him, and presses their mouths together. He breathes his last iota of oxygen into Eddie, before turning back to the window. They can’t die in here.  
He kicks the window once.  
Twice.  
Somehow the sound of his kicks seem louder.  
Three times.

Richie hits the floor, dry as a bone. He chokes on the air, forcing it into his lungs, spluttering blood onto the… pristine library floor. His glasses are still firmly on his face, slipping down his nose a bit from the sweat. He looks around just as Ben grabs his shoulders, the library door swinging open from a forceful kick. The other losers rush in behind him.  
“Richie, shit, man, what happened? Are you bleeding?”  
“Eddie-“ Richie coughs.  
Eddie lays in Bev’s arms, unconscious.  
“What’s wrong with him?” She asks frantically.  
Richie knows. He tries to crawl over to Eddie, while choking on his explanation.  
“He drowned- CPR- CPR-“ He breaks into a coughing fit before he can reach him. Luckily, Ben gets the message. He drops his hold on Richie, knocks Eddie’s body out of Bev’s arms, and begins pumping his chest like a lifeguard.  
Richie watches, his vision fading in and out of darkness, as Eddie’s body convulses under the shoves to his heart. Ben leans down and forces air into Eddie’s mouth. When he lifts his head away, Richie notices Eddie’s lips have turned blue.  
He can’t breathe himself. His throat has closed up in panic, watching the futile attempt to-  
Eddie retches, and Beverly quickly turns his head to the side as a physically impossible amount of blood pours from his mouth. Richie makes a noise between a laugh and a cry as Eddie blinks, owl-like and shocked. Colour begins to return to his lips.  
“Fuck! Eddie!” Mike shouts out, his hands on his head. Bev grips Eddie’s shoulder in relief.  
Eddie looks from Richie, to Ben. “I think you broke a rib, man.” He croaks.  
“I think what you mean is – thank you for saving my life, Haystack.” Richie says, breathlessly, crawling over to Eddie.  
“Yeah, that.” Eddie whispers, closing his eyes. “Shit.”  
Richie stands up and shakes his arms out as Ben helps Eddie into a seated position.  
“What the hell happened to you guys?” Mike asks.  
“You wouldn’t fucking believe it if we told you.” Richie replies grimly.  
“It’s getting stronger.” Eddie says, his voice slowly returning to normal. “It never pulled shit like that in the old days.”  
Ben’s expression suddenly changes. “Bill.”  
“We’ve gotta get to him.” Mike adds. “Can you stand?”  
Eddie, with the help of Richie and Ben, gets to his feet. He winces as the possibly snapped rib. “I’ll be good. Just give me a minute.”  
His gaze turns to Richie. He grasps his hand.  
“Don’t fucking scare me like that. Ever again.” Richie mutters. Although Ben is holding onto Eddie’s other side, the intensity between their eyes makes Richie’s heart start to hammer in a whole new way.  
Eddie stares at Richie’s disheveled expression, and squeezes his hand.  
He doesn’t know why, but the idea of losing Richie sends ice down his spine. More so than the rest of the losers. He grips onto the warmth of Richie’s palm, and pushes that thought to the back of his mind. 

He’ll save that thought for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bev and Ben scene where they’re both drowning is probably my favorite bit of Chapter 2, which is where I got inspired for this little scene – along with the library scene in the 90’s series. 
> 
> Also gymnophobic means being afraid of being naked isn’t that a crazy coincidence?


End file.
